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•;,•■• ;:  ;•  [{''{L ' Mary  Jane  Holmes 

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...ri  Gables ...*:..... ^':,;ataiiley  J.  Weymim 

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:  i;  or  in  tne  DepiUB!  ■.".•'.... ...rs.  E.  D.  E  N.  Southwof th 

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l.:,rly  Grace • .Mrs.  Henry  V\  ood 

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f  the  Mohicans • J-  Fenimore  Cooper 

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wiiiin...'.'. ...Henry  Sieukiewicz 

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Failed . ......  1 . •' Rudyard  Kipling 

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o  f  Nero,  The ;• Elmo 

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id  Tears r- Arseme  Houssaye 

^  <.f  LangHtreth,  The 1 .John  R.  V.  Gilliafc 

(.fa  Worldly  Woman : .....Mrs.  W.K.  Clifford 

'   rfy  1  (ilobe Charlotte  M.  Yongo., 

,p«nKe CM.  Braemri' 

;. , A.  Dumas 

(iiMHi Victorien  Sardoa 

r Marjr  June  Holmes 

.Nathaniel  Hawthorne 

r  Widow ;■. Mrs.  Alexander 

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A  all  Street. St,  George  Rathbone 

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rt .0.  M.  Braeme: 

'  • A.  Co  n an  Doyle 

iv Mary  Jane  Holmes 

..dl loUk 

\<)te.  A ^ S.  O.  McCay 

•.  Marion  Harland 

1  an  Old  Manse Nathaniel  Hawthorne 

r.-rloHed,  The E.  H.  Thayer 

It  Book , Harland 

• Augusta  J.  Evans 

^  i>olng. . . • Harriet  Beechor  Stowe 

^  Curtain  Lectures Donpl as  Jerrold 

I  '»ney Wilkie  Col  I  ins 

' ' '  ror , Ou  Boisgobey 

"■  <*i  ^ : Charles  Lomon 

[y.  A.... A.  Dumas 

■•  I  n  the  Spiritual  World Henry  Druramond 

' ' "f  Oirl« Rosa  N.  Carey 

'    01  iver  Optic 

"l- MissM.  E.  Braddon 

"»"•;• ., James  Steele 

'"".The :....Theo.BauKhman 

' '""' Darwin 

"•" A.  Dumas 

'"'    Thomas  Carlyle 

T.  Fenimore  Cooper 

Mrs.  Eliza  Alexander 

.-^ Saint  Pierre 

i-.>rfumo  ut  the  viulXTh;:::;:::::::;:;" .;;;;;;  :;;;:;:;;:;;;:;;::;:;:;;;;;;;::;;;;f- -f  ^S!i 


THE   MAKERS   OP 


VENICE 


BY 

MRS.  OLIPHANT 


Chicago 

HOMEWOOD  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

Publishers 


.,^- 


HCNRY  MORSE  8T1 


0 

\ 


^- 


^ 


■') 


TO 

ELIZABETH,   LADY  CLONCURRY. 

AND 

EMMA  FITZMAURICE, 

KIND    AND     DEAR    COMPANIONS 

OF  MANY  A  VENETIAN  F  AMBLE, 

THIS  J300K  IS   INSCRIBED. 


865923 


Veixlcft 


CONTENTS. 


PART  I. 

The  Doges. 

chapter.  page. 

I.~The  Orseoli 15 

II.— The  Michieli 45 

III. — Enrico  Dandolo 71 

IV.— Pietro  Gradenigo:  Change  of  the  Constitution 97 

V. — The  Doges  Disgraced 126 

PART  II. 
By  Sea  and  by  Land. 

I.— The  Travelers:  Niccolo,  Matteo,  and  Marco  Polo. .  147 

II.— A  Popular  Hero 171 

III. — Soldiers  of  Fortune:  Carmagnola , 212 

IV.— Bartolommeo  CoUeoni 256 

PART  III. 

The  Painters. 

I.— The  Three  Early  Masters , 269 

II.— The  Second  Generation 297 

III.— Tintoretto 329 

PART  IV. 

Men  of  Letters. 

I.— The  Guest  of  Venice 347 

II.— The  Historians 368 

III.— Aldus  and  the  Aldines 400 

5 

BOOK  II. 
a.  N.  Y. 


8  INTRODUCTION. 

of  responsive  brightness.  In  the  light  of  summer 
mornings,  in  the  glow  of  winter  sunsets,  Venice 
stands  out  upon  the  blue  background,  the  sea  that 
brims  upward  to  her  very  doors,  the  sky  that  sweeps 
in  widening  circles  all  around,  radiant  with  an 
answering  tone  of  light.  She  is  all  wonder,  en- 
chantment, the  brightness  and  the  glory  of  a  dream. 
Her  own  children  cannot  enough  paint  her,  praise 
her,  celebrate  her  splendors;  and  to  outdo,  if 
possible,  that  patriotic  enthusiasm  has  been  the 
effort  of  many  a  stranger  from  afar. 

When  the  present  writer  ventured  to  put  upon 
record  some  of  the  impressions  which  mediaeval 
Florence  has  left  upon  history,  in  the  lives  and 
deeds  of  great  men,  the  work  was  comparatively  an 
easy  one — for  Florence  is  a  city  full  of  shadows  of 
the  great  figures  of  the  past.  The  traveler  cannot 
pass  along  her  streets  without  treading  in  the  very 
traces  of  Dante,  without  stepping  upon  soil  made 
memorable  by  footprints  never  to  be  effaced.  We 
meet  them  in  the  crowded  ways — the  cheerful 
•painters  singing  at  their  work,  the  prophet-monk 
going  to  torture  and  execution,  the  wild  gallants 
with  their  Carnival  ditties,  the  crafty  and  splendid 
statesman  who  subjugated  the  fierce  republic.  Faces 
start  out  from  the  crowd  wherever  we  turn  our 
eyes.  The  greatness  of  the  surroundings,  the  pal- 
aces, churches,  frowning  mediaeval  castles  in  the 
midst  of  the  city,  are  all  thrown  into  the  background 
by  the  greatness,  the  individuality,  the  living 
power  and  vigor  of  the  men  who  are  their  orig- 
inators, and,  at  the  same  time,  their  inspiring  soul. 

But  when  we  turn  to  Venice  the  effect  is  very 
different.  After  the  bewitchment  of  the  first 
vision,  a  chill  falls,  upon  the  inquirer.  Where  is 
the  poet,  where  the  prophet,  the  princes,  the 
scholars,  the  men  whom,  could  we  see,  we  should 
recognize  wherever  we  met  them,  with  whom  the 
whole   world  is  acquainted?     They  are    not    here. 

In  the  sunshine  of  the   Piazza,   in  the  glorious 


INTRODUCTION.  9 

gloom  of  San  Marco,  in  the  great  council  chambers 
and  offices  of  state,  once  so  full  of  busy  statesmen 
and  great  interests,  there  is  scarcely  a  figure 
recognizable  of  all,  to  be  met  with  in  the  spirit — 
no  one  whom  we  look  for  as  we  walk,  whose 
individual  footsteps  are  traceable  wherever  we 
turn.  Instead  of  the  men  who  made  her  what  she 
is,  who  ruled  her  with  so  high  a  hand,  who  filled 
her  archives  with  the  most  detailed  narratives,  and 
gleaned  throughout  the  world  every  particular  of 
universal  history  which  could  enlighten  and  guide 
her,  we  find  everywhere  the  great  image — an 
idealization  more  wonderful  than  any  in  poetry — of 
Venice  herself,  the  crowned  and  reigning  city,  the 
center  of  all  their  aspirations,  the  mistress  of  their 
affections,  for  whom  those  haughty  patricians  of  an 
older  day,  with  a  proud  self-abnegation  which  has 
no  humility  or  sacrifice  in  it,  effaced  themselves, 
thinking  of  nothing  but  her  glory.  It  is  a  singu- 
lar tribute  to  pay  to  any  race,  especially  to  a  race 
so  strong,  so  full  of  life  and  energy,  loving  power, 
luxury,  and  pleasantness  as  few  other  races  have 
done;  yet  it  is  true.  When  Byron  swept  with  su- 
perficial, yet  brilliant  eyes,  the  roll  of  Venetian  his- 
tory, what  did  he  find  for  the  uses  of  his  verse? 
Nothing  but  two  old  men,  one  condemned  for  his 
own  fault,  the  other  tor  his  son's,  remarkable 
chiefly  for  their  misfortunes — symbols  of  the  wrath 
and  the  feebleness  of  age,  and  of  ingratitude  and 
bitter  fate.  This  was  all  which  the  rapid  observer 
could  find  in  the  story  of  a  power  which  was  once 
supreme  in  the  seas,  the  arbiter  of  peace  and  war 
through  all  the  difficult  and  dangerous  East, 
the  first  defender  of  Christendom  against  the 
Turk,  the  first  merchant,  banker,  carrier,  whose 
emissaries  were  busy  in  all  the  councils  and 
all  the  markets  of  the  world.  In  her  records 
the  city  is  everything  —  the  republic,  the 
worshiped  ideal  of  a  community  in  which  every 
man  for  the  common  glory  seems  to  have  been  wil- 


10  INTRODUCTION. 

ling  to  sink  his  own.  Her  sons  toiled  for  her,  each 
in  his  vocation, not  without  personal  glory,  far  from 
indifferent  to  personal  gain,  yet  determined  above 
all  that  Venice  should  be  great,  that  she  should  be 
beautiful  above  all  the  thoughts  of  other  races,  that 
her  power  and  her  splendor  should  outdo  every 
rival.  The  impression  grows  upon  the  student, 
whether  he  penetrates  no  further  than  the  door- 
ways of  those  endless  collections  of  historic  docu- 
ments which  make  the  archives  of  Venice  important 
to  all  the  world,  and  in  which  lie  the  records  of  im- 
measurable toil,  the  investigations  of  a  succession  of 
the  keenest  observers,  the  most  subtle  politicians 
and  statesmen;  or  whether  he  endeavors  to  trace 
more  closely  the  growth  and  development  of  the  re- 
public, the  extension  of  her  rule,  the  perfection  of 
her  economy.  In  all  of  these,  men  of  the  noblest 
talents,  the  most  intense  vigor  and  energy,  have 
labored.  The  records  give  forth  the  very  hum  of 
a  crowd;  they  glow  with  life,  with  ambition,  with 
strength,  with  every  virile  and  potent  quality;  but 
all  directed  to  one  aim.  Venice  is  the  outcome — n6t 
great  names  of  individual  men. 

The  Tuscans  also  loved  their  great  and  beautiful 
city,  but  they  loved'  her  after  a  different  sort.  Per- 
haps the  absence  of  all  those  outlets  to  the  seas  and 
traffic  with  the  wider  world  which  molded  Vene- 
tian character  gave  the  strain  of  a  more  violent  per- 
sonality and  fiercer  passions  to  their  blood.  They 
loved  their  Florence  for  themselves,  desiring  an  ab- 
solute sway  over  her,  and  to  make  her  their  own — 
unable  to  tolerate  any  rivalry  in  respect  to  her,  turn- 
ing out  upon  the  world  every  competitor,  fighting 
to  be  first  in  the  city,  whatever  might  happen.  The 
Venetians,  with  what  seems  a  finer  purpose  in  a 
race  less  grave,  put  Venice  first  in  everything. 
Few  were  the  fuon-tisciti,  the  political  exiles,  sent 
out  from  the  city  of  the  sea.  Now  and  then  a 
general  who  had  lost  a  battle — in  order  that  all  gen- 
erals might  be    thus    sharply    reminded   that   the 


INTRODUCTION.  U 

republic  tolerated  no  failures — would  be  thrust  forth 
into  the  wilderness  of  that  dark  world  which  was 
not  Venice,  but  no  feud  so  great  as  that  which  ban- 
ished Dante  ever  tore  the  city  asunder,  no  such 
vicissitudes  of  sway  ever  tormented  her  peace.  A 
grand  and  steady  aim,  never  abandoned,  never  even 
lost  sight  of,  runs  though  every  page  of  her  story  as 
long  as  it  remains  the  story  of  a  living  and  indepen- 
dent power. 

Perhaps  the  comparative  equality  of  the  great 
houses  which  figure  on  the  pages  of  the  Golden 
Book  of  Venice  may  have  something  to  do  with  this 
result.  Their  continual  poise  and  balance  of  power, 
and  all  the  wonderful  system  of  checks  and  re- 
straints so  skilfully  combined  to  prevent  all  possi- 
bility of  the  predominance  of  one  family  over  the 
other,  would  thus  have  attained  a  success  which 
suspicion  and  jealousy  have  seldom  secured,  and 
which,  perhaps,  may  be  allowed  to  obliterate  the 
memory  of  such  sentiments,  and  make  us  think  of 
them  as  wisdom  and  honorable  care.  As  in  most 
hu^man  affairs,  no  doubt  both  the  greater  and  lesser 
motives  were  present,  and  the  determination  of 
each  man  that  his  neighbor  should  have  no  chance 
of  stepping  on  to  a  higher  level  than  himself, 
combined  with,  and  gave  a  keen  edge  of  personal 
feeling  to,  his  conviction  of  the  advantage  of  the 
oligarchical-democratic  government  which  suited 
the  genius  of  the  people  and  made  the  republic  so 
great.  Among  the  Contarinis,  Morosinis,  Tiepolos, 
Dandolos,  the  Cornars  and  Loredans,  and  a  host  of 
others  whose  names  recur  with  endless  persistency 
from  first  to  last  through  all  the  vicissitudes  of  the 
national  career,  alternating  in  all  the  highest 
offices  of  state,  there  was  none  which  was  ever  per- 
mitted to  elevate  itself  permanently,  or  come  within 
sight  of  a  supreme  position.  They  kept  each  other 
down,  even  while  raising  each  other  to  the  fullness 
of  an  aristocratic  sway  which  has  never  been 
equaled  in  Christendom.     And  the  ambition  which 


12  INTRODUCTION. 

could  never  hope  for  such  predominance  as  the 
Medici,  the  Visconti,  the  Scaligeri  attained  in  their 
respective  cities,  was  thus  entirely  devoted  to  the 
advancement  of  the  community,  the  greater  power 
and  glory  of  the  state.  What  no  man  could  secure 
for  himself  or  his  own  house,  all  men  could  do,  secur- 
ing their  share  in  the  benefit,  for  Venice.  And  in 
generotis  minds  this  ambition,  taking  a  finer  flight 
than  is  possible  when  personal  aggrandizement  lies 
at  the  heart  of  the  effort,  became  a  passion — the  in- 
spiring principle  of  the  race.  For  this  they  coursed 
the  seas,  quenching  the  pirate  tribes  that  threat- 
ened their  trade,  less  laudably  seizing  the  towns  of 
the  coast,  the  islands  of  the  sea,  which  interfered 
with  their  access  to  their  markets  in  the  East.  For 
this  they  carried  fire  and  flame  to  the  mainland,  and 
snatched  from  amid  the  fertile  fields  the  supremacy 
of  Padua  and  Treviso,  and  many  a  landward  city, 
making  their  seaborn  nest  into  the  governing  head 
of  a  great  province;  an  object  which  was  imper- 
sonal, giving  license  as  well  as  force  to  their  pur- 
pose, and  relieving  their  consciences  from  the  guilt 
of  turning  Crusades  and  missionary  enterprises  alike 
into  wars  of  conquest.  Whatever  their  tyrannies,  as 
whatever  their  hard-won  glories  might  be,  they  were 
all  for  Venice,  and  only  in  a  secondary  and  subsid- 
iary sense  for  themselves. 

The  same  principle  has  checked,  in  other  ways, 
that  flow  of  individual  story  with  which  Florence 
has  enriched  the  records  of  the  world  Nature  at 
first,  no  doubt,  must  bear  the  blame,  who  gave  no 
Dante  to  the  state  which  perhaps  might  have  prized 
him  more  highly  than  his  own ;  but  the  same  para- 
mount attraction  of  the  idolized  and  sovereign  city, 
in  which  lay  all  their  pride,  turned  the  early  writ- 
ers of  Venice  into  chroniclers,  historians,  diarists, 
occupied  in  collecting  and  recording  everything  that 
concerned  their  city,  and  indifferent  to  individuals, 
devoted  only  to  the  glory  and  the  story  of  the  state. 
In  later  days  this  peculiarity  indeed  gave  way,  and 


INTRODUCTION.  13 

a  hundred  piping  voices  rise  to  celebrate  the  decad- 
ence of  the  great  republic;  but  by  that  time  she  has 
ceased  to  be  a  noble  spectacle,  and  luxury  and  vice 
have  come  in  to  degrade  the  tale  into  one  of  end- 
less pageantry  deprived  of  all  meaning — no  longer 
the  proud  occasional  triumphs  of  a  conquering  race, 
but  the  perpetual  occupation  of  a  debased  and  cor- 
rupted people.  To  the  everlasting  loss  of  the  city 
and  mankind  there  was  no  Vasari  in  Venice.  Mes- 
ser  Giorgio,  with  his  kindly,  humorous  eyes,  peered 
across  the  peninsula,  through  clouds  of  battle  and 
conflict  always  going  on,  and  perhaps  not  without  a 
mist  of  neighborly  depreciation  in  themselves,  per- 
ceived far  off  the  Venetian  men,  and  their  works, 
who  were  thought  great  painters — a  rival  school  in 
competition  with  his  own.  He  was  not  near  enough 
to  discover  what  manner  of  men  the  two  long-lived 
brothers  Bellini,  or  the  silent  Carpaccio,  with  his 
beautiful  thoughts,  or  the  rest  of  the  busy  citizens, 
who  filled  churches  and  chambers  with  a  splendor 
as  of  their  own  resplendent  air  and  glowing  suns, 
might  be.  An  infinite  loss  to  us  and  to  the  state, 
yet  completing  the  sentiment  of  the  consistent  story, 
which  demands  all  for  Venice;  but  for  the  indivi- 
dual whose  works  are  left  behind  him  to  her  glory, 
his  name  inscribed  upon  her  records  as  a  faithful 
servant,  and  no  more. 

Yet  when  we  enter  more  closely  into  the  often- 
repeated  narrative,  transmitted  from  one  hand  to 
another  till  each  chronicler,  with  sharp,  incisive 
touches  or  rambling  in  garrulous  details  has 
brought  it  down  to  his  own  time  and  personal  know- 
ledge, this  severity  relaxes  somewhat.  The  actors 
in  the  drama  break  into  groups,  and  with  more  or 
less  difficulty  it  becomes  possible  to  discover  here 
and  there  how  a  change  came  about,  how  a  great 
conquest  was  made,  how  the  people  gathered  to 
listen,  and  how  a  doge,  an  orator,  a  suppliant  stood 
up  and  spoke.  We  begin  to  discern,  after  along 
gazing,  how  a  popular  tumult  would  spring  up,  and 


14  INTRODUCTION. 

all  Venice  dart  into  fire  and    flame;  and  how  the 
laws    and  institutions  grew  which  controlled  that 
possibility,  and  gradually,  with  the  enforced  assent 
of  the  populace,  bound  them  more  securely  than 
ever  democracy  was  bound  before,  in  the  name  of 
freedom.     And    among  the    fire    and  smoke,   and 
through   the  mists— we  come  to  perceive  here  and 
there  a  noble  figure — a  blind  old  doge,  with  white 
locks  streaming,   with  sightless  eyes  aflame    run- 
ning his  galley  ashore,  a  mark  for  all  the  arrows; 
or  another  standing,  a  gentler,  less  prominent  im- 
age between  the  Pope  and  the  Emperor;  or  with 
deep  eyes,  all  hollowed  with  age  and  thought,  and 
close-shut    mouth,    as  in  that  portrait  Bellini  has 
made    for    us,    facing    a    league  of  monarchs  un- 
daunted, for  Venice  against  the  world.  And  though 
there  is  no  record  of  that  time  when  Dante  stood 
within  the  red  walls  of  the  arsenal,  and  saw  the  gal- 
leys making  and  mending,  and  the  pitch  fuming  up 
to  heaven, — as    all    the    world  may  still  see  them 
through  his  eyes, — yet  a  milder,  scholarly  image,  a 
round,  smooth  face,  with  cowl  and  garland,  looks 
down  upon  us  from   the   gallery,   all   blazing  with 
crimson  and  gold,  between  the  horses  of  San  Marco, 
a  friendly  visitor,  the  best  we  could  have,    since 
Dante  left  no  sign  behind  him,  and  probably  was 
never  heard  of  by  the  magnificent  Signoria.     Pe- 
trarch  stands  there,   to  be  seen  by  the  side  of  the 
historian  doge,  as  long  as  Venice    lasts;  but    not 
much  of  him,  only  a  glimpse,  as  is  the   Venetian 
way,  lest  in  contemplation  of  the  poet  we   should 
for  a  moment  forget  the  republic,  his  hostess   and 
protector — Venice,  the  all-glorious  mistress  of  the 
seas,  the  first  object,  the  unrivaled  sovereign  of  her 
children's  thoughts  and  hearts. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 


PART  I.—THE  DOGES, 


CHAPTER  I. 


THE    ORSEOLI. 


The  names  of  the  doges,  though  so  important  in 
the  old  chronicles  of  the  republic,  which  are  in 
many  cases  little  more  than  a  succession  of  Vttcp- 
Duciim,  possess  individually  few  associations  and 
little  sigificance  to  the  minds  of  the  strangers  who 
gaze  upon  the  long  line  of  portraits  under  the  cor- 
nice of  the  Hall  of  the  Great  Council,  without  paus- 
ing with  special  interest  on  any  of  them,  save  per- 
haps on  that  corner  where,  conspicuous  by  its 
absence,  the  head  of  Marino  Faliero  ought  to  be. 
The  easy  adoption  of  one  figure,  by  no  means  par- 
ticularly striking  or  characteristic,  but  which  served 
the  occasion  of  the  poet  without  giving  him  too 
much  trouble,  has  helped  to  throw  the  genuine  his- 
torical importance  of  a  very  remarkable  succession 
of  rulers  into  obscurity.  But  this  long  line  of  sov- 
ereigns, sometimes  the  guides,  often  the  victims,  of 
the  popular  will,  stretching  back  with  a  clearer  title 
and  more  comprehensible  history  than  that  of  most 
dynasties  into  the  vague  distances  of  old  time,  is 
full  of  interest,  and  contains  many  a  tragic  epi- 
sode as  striking  and  more  significant  than  that  of 
the  aged  prince  whose  picturesque  story  is  the  one 
most  generally  known.  There  are,  indeed,  few 
among  them  who  have  been  publicly  branded  with 

15  - 


16  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

the  naitieof  traitpn;;lJi^,,  it  least  in  the  earlier  chap 
tersof  ^he'great 'civic  history,  there  are  many  exam- 
ple^ of  '.9t;p^pfl.'l^t*|tnig^le  :and  a  violent  death  as 
the'fe'ate'cff 'the  qUi&t'eftSing  and  serene  magnifi- 
cence which  seem  fitted  to  the  age  and  services  of 
most  of  those  who  have  risen  to  that  dignity. 
They  have  been  in  many  cases  old  men,  already 
worn  in  the  service  of  their  country,  most  of  them 
tried  by  land  and  sea — mariners,  generals,  legisla- 
tors, fully  equipped  for  all  the  various  needs  of  a 
sovereignty  whose  dominion  was  the  sea,  yet  which 
was  at  the  same  time  weighed  with  all  the  vexations 
and  dangers  of  a  continental  rule.  Their  elevation 
was,  in  later  times,  a  crowning  honor,  a  sort  of 
dignified  retirement  from  the  ruder  labors  of  civic 
use;  but  in  the  earlier  ages  of  the  republic  this  was 
not  so,  and  at  all  times  it  was  a  most  dangerous 
post,  and  one  whose  occupant  was  most  likely  to 
pay  for  popular  disappointments,  to  run  the  risk  of 
all  the  conspiracies,  and  to  be  hampered  and  hin- 
dered by  jealous  counselors  and  the  continual 
inspection  of  suspicious  spectators.  To  change  the 
doges  was  always  an  expedient  by  which  Venice 
could  propitiate  fate  and  turn  the  course  of  fortune ; 
and  the  greatest  misfortunes  recorded  in  her  chron- 
icles are  those  of  her  princes,  whose  names  were  to- 
day acclaimed  to  all  the  echoes,  their  paths  strewed 
with  flowers  and  carpeted  with  cloth  of  gold,  but 
to-morrow  insulted  and  reviled,  and  themselves 
exiled  or  murdered,  all  services  to  the  state  not- 
withstanding. Sometimes,  no  doubt,  the  overthrow 
was  well  deserved,  but  in  other  instances  it  can  be 
set  down  to  nothing  but  popular  caprice.  To  the 
latter  category  belongs  the  story  of  the  family  of 
the  Orseoli,  which,  at  the  very  outset  of  authentic 
history,  sets  before  us  at  a  touch  the  early  economy 
of  Venice,  the  relations  of  the  princes  and  the 
people,  the  enthusiasms,  the  tumults,  the  gusts  of 
popular  caprice,  as  well  as  the  already  evident  pre- 
dominance of  a  vigorous  aristocracy,  natural  leaders 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  17 

of  the  people.  The  history  of  this  noble  family  has 
the  advantage  of  being  set  before  us  by  the  first 
distinct  contemporary  narrative,  that  of  Giovanni 
Sagornino — John  the  Deacon,  John  of  Venice,  as 
he  is  fondly  termed  by  a  recent  historian.  The  in- 
cidents of  this  period  of  power,  or  at  least  of  that 
of  the  two  first  princes  of  the  name,  incidents  full 
of  importance  in  the  history  of  the  rising  republic, 
are  the  first  that  stand  forth,  out  of  the  mist  of 
nameless  chronicles,  as  facts  which  were  seen  and 
recorded  by  a  trustworthy  witness. 

The  first  Orseolo  came  into  power  after  a  popular 
tumult  of  the  most  violent  description,  which  took 
the  throne  and  his  life  from  the  previous  doge, 
Pietro  Candiano.  This  event  occurred  in  the  year 
976,  when  such  scenes  were  not  tmusual,  even  in 
regions  less  excitable.  Candiano  was  the  fourth 
doge  of  his  name,  and  had  been  in  his  youth  associ- 
ated with  his  father  in  the  supreme  authority — but 
in  consequence  of  his  rebellion  and  evil  behavior 
had  been  displaced  and  exiled,  his  life  saved  only 
at  the  prayer  of  the  old  doge.  On  the  death  of  his 
father,  however,  the  young  prodigal  had  been 
acclaimed  doge  by  the  rabble.  In  this  capacity  he 
had  done  much  to  disgust  and  alarm  the  sensitive 
and  proud  republic.  Chief  among  his  offenses  was 
the  fact  that  he  had  acquired,  through  his  wife, 
continental  domains  which  required  to  be  kept  in 
subjection  by  means  of  a  body  of  armed  retainers, 
dangerous  for  Venice,  and  he  was  superbissimo  from 
his  youth  up,  and  had  given  frequent  offence  by  his 
arrogance  and  exactions.  Upon  what  occasion  it 
was  that  the  poptilar  patience  failed  at  last  we  are 
not  told,  but  only  that  a  sudden  tumult  arose 
against  him,  a  rush  of  general  fury.  When  the 
enraged  mob  hurried  to  the  ducal  palace  they  found 
that  the  doge  had  fortified  himself  there;  upon 
which  they  adopted  the  primitive  method  of  setting 
fire  to  the  surrounding  buildings.  Tradition  asserts 
that  it  was  from  the  house  of   Pietro  Orseolo    that 

2  Venice 


18  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

the  fire  was  kindled,  and  some  say  by  his  sugges- 
tion. It  would  seem  that  the  crowd  intended  only 
to  burn  some  of  the  surrounding  houses  to  frighten 
or  smoke  out  the  doge;  but  the  wind  was  high,  and 
the  ducal  palace,  with  the  greater  part  of  San  Marco, 
which  was  then  merely  the  ducal  chapel,  was  con- 
sumed, along  with  all  the  houses  stretching  upward 
along  the  course  of  the  Grand  Canal  as  far  as 
Santa  Maria  Zobenigo.  This  sudden  conflagration 
lights  up,  in  the  darkness  of  that  distant  age,  a 
savage  scene.  The  doge  seized  in  his  arms  his 
young  child,  whether  with  the  hope  of  saving  it  or 
of  saving  himself  by  means  of  that  shield  of  inno- 
cence, and  made  his  way  out  of  his  burning  house 
through  the  church,  which  was  also  burning, 
though  better  able,  probably,  to  resist  the  flames. 
But  when  he  emerged  from  the  secret  passages  of 
San  Marco  he  found  that  the  crowd  had  anticipated 
him,  and  that  his  way  was  barred  on  every  side  by 
armed  men.  The  desperate  fugitive  confronted 
the  multitude,  and  resorted  to  that  method  so  often, 
and  sometimes  so  unexpectedly,  successful  with  the 
masses.  In  the  midst  of  the  fire  and  smoke,  sur- 
rounded by  those  threatening,  fierce  countenances, 
with  red  reflections  glittering  in  every  sword  and 
lance-point,  reflected  over  again  in  the  sullen 
water,  he  made  a  last  appeal.  They  had  banished 
him  in  his  youth,  yet  had  relented  and  recalled  him 
and  made  him  doge.  Would  they  burn  him  out 
now,  drive  him  into  a  corner,  kill  him  like  a'wild 
beast?  And  supposing  even  that  he  was  worthy  of 
death,  what  had  the  child  done ;  an  infant  who  had 
never  sinned  against  them?  This  scene,  so  full  of 
fierce  and  terrible  elements,  the  angry  roar  of  the 
multitude,  the  blazing  of  the  fire  behind  that  circle 
of  tumult  and  agitation,  the  wild  glare  in  the  sky, 
and  amid  all,  the  one  soft,  infantine  figure  held  up 
in  the  father's  despairing  arms — might  afford  a  sub- 
ject for  a  powerful  picture  in  the  long  succession  of 
Venetian  records  made  by  art. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  19 

When  this  tragedy  had  ended,  by  the  murder  of 
both  father  and  child,  the  choice  of  the  city  fell 
upon  Pietro  Orseolo  as  the  new  doge.  An  ecclesi- 
astical historian  of  the  time  speaks  of  his  *' wicked 
ambition"  as  instrumental  in  the  downfall  of  his 
predecessor  and  of  his  future  works  of  charity  as 
dictated  by  remorse ;  but  we  are  disposed  to  hope 
that  this  is  merely  said,  as  is  not  uncommon  in 
religious  story,  to  enhance  the  merits  of  his  conver- 
sion. The  secular  chroniclers  are  unanimous  in 
respect  to  his  excellence.  He  was  a  man  in  every- 
thing the  contrary  of  the  late  doge — a  man  laudato 
dt  tutti  approved  of  all  men — and  of  whom  nothing 
but  good  was  known.  Perhaps  if  he  had  any  share 
in  the  tumult  which  ended  in  the  murder  of  Can- 
diano,  his  conscience  may  have  made  a  crime  of  it 
when  the  hour  of  conversion  came;  but  certainly  in 
Venice  there  would  seem  to  have  been  no  accuser  to 
say  a  word  against  him.  In  the  confusion  of  the 
great  fire  and  the  disorganization  of  the  city,  "con- 
taminated" by  the  murder  of  the  prince,  and  all  the 
disorders  involved,  Orseolo  was  forced  into  the  un- 
easy seat  whose  occupant  was  sure  to  be  the  first 
victim  if  the  affairs  of  Venice  went  wrong.  His 
first  act  was  to  remove  the  insignia  of  his  office  out 
of  the  ruins  of  the  doge's  palace  to  his  own  house, 
which  was  situated  upon  the  Riva  beyond  and  adja- 
cent to  the  home  of  the  doges.  It  is  difficult  to 
form  to  ourselves  an  idea  of  the  aspect  of  the  city  at 
this  early  period.  Venice,  though  already  great, 
was  in  comparison  with  its  after  appearance  a  mere 
village,  or  rather  a  cluster  of  villages,  straggling 
along  the  sides  of  each  muddy,  marshy  island,  keep- 
ing the  line  of  the  broad  and  navigable  water-way, 
in  dots  of  building  and  groups  of  houses  and 
churches,  from  the  olive-covered  isle  where  San 
Pietro,  the  first  great  church  of  the  city,  shone  white 
among  its  trees,  along  the  curve  of  the  Canaluccio 
to  the  Rialto— Rive-Alto— what  Mr.  Ruskin  calls 
the  deep  stream,  where  the  church  of  San  Giacomo, 


20  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

another  central  spot,  stood,  with  its  group  of  dwell- 
ings round;  no  bridge  then  dreamed  of,  but  a  ferry 
connnecting  the  two  sides  of  the  Grand  Canal. 
Already  the  stir  of  commerce  was  in  the  air,  and 
the  big  seagoing  galleys,  with  their  high  bulwarks, 
lay  at  the  rude  wharves,  to  take  in  outward-bound 
cargoes  of  salt,  salt  fish,  wooden  furniture,  bowls, 
and  boxes  of  home  manufacture,  as  well  as  the 
goods  brought  from  northern  nations,  of  which  they 
were  the  merchants  and  carriers — and  come  back 
laden  with  the  riches  of  the  East — with  wonderful 
tissues  and  carpets,  and  marbles  and  relics  of  the 
saints.  The  palace  and  its  chapel,  the  shrine  of 
San  Marco,  stood  where  they  still  stand,  but  there 
were  no  columns  on  the  Piazzetta,  and  the  Great 
Piazza  was  a  piece  of  waste  land  belonging  to  the 
nuns  at  San  Zaccaria,  which  was,  as  one  might  say, 
the  parish  church.  Most  probably  this  vacant 
space,  in  the  days  of  the  first  Orseolo,  was  little 
more  than  a  waste  of  salt-water  grasses,  and  sharp 
and  acrid  plants  like  those  that  now  flourish  in 
such  rough  luxuriance  on  the  Lido — or  perhaps 
boasted  a  tree  or  two,  a  patch  of  cultivated  ground. 
Such  was  the  scene — very  different  from  the  Venice 
of  the  earliest  pictures;  still  more  different  from 
that  we  know.  But  already  the  lagoon  was  full  of 
boats,  and  the  streets  of  commotion,  and  Venice 
grew  like  a  young  plant,  like  the  quick-spreading 
vegetation  of  her  own  warm,  wet  marshes,  day  by 
day. 

The  new  doge  proceeded  at  once  to  rebuild  both 
the  palace  and  the  shrine.  The  energy  and  vigor 
of  the  man  who,  with  that  desolate  and  smoking 
mass  of  ruin  around  him — three  hundred  houses 
burned  to  the  ground  and  all  their  forlorn  inhabit- 
ants to  house  and  care  for — could  yet  address  him- 
self without  a  pause  to  the  reconstruction  on  the 
noblest  scale  of  the  great  twin  edifices,  the  glorious 
dwelling  of  the  saint,  the  scarcely  less  cared-for 
palace  of  the  governor,  the  representation  of  law 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  21 

and  order  in  Venice,  has  something  wonderful  in  it. 
He  was  not  rich,  and  neither  was  the  city;,  which 
had  in  the  midst  of  this  disaster  to  pay  the  dower  of 
the  Princess  Valdrada,  the  widow  of  Candiano, 
whose  claims  were  backed  by  the  Emperor  Otto,  and 
would,  if  refused,  have  brought  upon  the  republic 
all  the  horrors  of  war.  Orseolo  gave  up  a  great 
part  of  his  own  patrimony,  however,  to  the  rebuild- 
ing of  the  church  and  palace;  eight  thousand  ducats 
a  year  for  eighty  years  (the  time  which  elapsed 
before  its  completion),  say  the  old  records,  he  de- 
voted to  this  noble  and  pious  purpose,  and  sought 
far  and  near  for  the  best  workmen,  some  of  whom 
came  as  far  as  from  Constantinople,  the  metropolis 
of  all  the  arts.  How  far  the  walls  had  risen  in  his 
day,  or  how  much  he  saw  accomplished,  or  heard 
of,  before  the  end  of  his  life,  it  is  impossible  to  tell. 
But  one  may  fancy  how,  amid  all  the  toils  of  the 
troubled  state,  while  he  labored  and  pondered  how 
to  get  that  money  together  for  Valdrada,  and  pacify 
the  emperor  and  her  other  powerful  friends,  and 
how  to  reconcile  all  factions,  and  heal  all  wounds, 
and  house  more  humbly  his  poor  burned-out  citi- 
zens, the  sight  from  his  windows  of  those  fair,  solid 
walls,  rising  out  of  the  ruins,  must  have  comforted 
his  soul.  Let  us  hope  he  saw  the  round  of  some 
lower  arch,  the  rearing  of  some  pillar,  a  pearly 
marble  slab  laid  on,  or  at  least  the  carved  work  on 
the  basement  of  a  column  before  he  went  away. 

The  historian  tells  us  that  it  was  Orseolo  also  who 
ordered  from  Constantinople  the  famous  Palad'Oro, 
the  wonderful  gold  and  silver  work  which  still  on 
high  days  and  festas  is  disclosed  to  the  eyes  of  the 
faithful  on  the  great  altar,  one  of  the  most  magnifi- 
cent ornaments  of  San  Marco.  It  is  a  pity  that  in- 
quisitive artists  and  antiquaries  with  their  investi- 
gations have  determined  this  work  to  be  at  least 
two  centuries  later,  but  Sagornino,  who  was  the 
doge's  contemporary,  could  not  have  foreseen  the 
work  of  a  later  age,  so  that  he  must  certainly  refer 


22  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

to  some  former  tabidam  miro  opere  ex  argento  et 
aurOy  which  Orseolo  in  his  magnificence  added  to 
his  other  gifts.  Nor  did  the  doge  confine  his  bounty 
to  these  great  and  beautiful  works.  If  the  beauty 
of  Venice  was  dear  to  him,  divine  charity  was  still 
more  dear.  Opposite  the  rising  palace,  where  now 
stands  the  Libreria  Vecchia,  Orseolo,  taking 
advantage  of  a  site  cleared  by  the  fire,  built  a  hos- 
pital, still  standing  in  the  time  of  Sabellico,  who 
speaks  of  it  as  the  Spedale,  il  quale  e  sopra  la 
Piazza  dirunpetto  al  Palazzo  and  where,  according 
to  the  tale,  he  constantly  visited  and  cared  for  the 
sick  poor. 

It  must  have  been  while  still  in  the  beginning  of 
all  these  great  works,  but  already  full  of  many  cares, 
the  Candiano  faction  working  against  him,  and  per- 
haps but  little  response  coming  from  the  people  to 
whom  he  was  sacrificing  his  comfort  and  his  life, 
that  Orseolo  received  a  visit  which  changed  the 
course  of  his  existence.  Among  the  pilgrims  who 
came  from  all  quarters  to  the  shrine  of  the  evangel- 
ist, a  certain  French  abbot,  Carinus  or  Guarino,  of 
the  monastery  of  St.  Michael  de  Cusano,  in  Aqui- 
taine,  arrived  in  Venice.  It  was  Orseolo's  custom  to 
have  all  such  pious  visitors  brought  to  his  house  and 
entertained  there  during  their  stay,  and  he  found 
in  Abbot  Guarino  a  congenial  soul.  They  talked 
together  of  all  things  in  heaven  and  earth,  and  of 
this  wonderful  new  Venice  rising  from  the  sea, 
with  all  her  half-built  churches  and  palaces;  and  of 
the  holy  relics  brought  from  every  coast  for  her 
enrichment  and  sanctification,  the  bodies  of  the 
saints  which  made  almost  every  church  a  sacred 
shrine.  And  no  doubt  the  cares  of  the  doge's 
troubled  life,  the  burdens  laid  on  him  daily,  the 
threats  of  murder  and  assassination  with  which,  in- 
stead of  gratitude,  his  self-devotion  was  received, 
were  poured  into  the  sympathetic  ear  of  the  priest, 
who  on  his  side  drew  such  pictures  of  the  holy  peace 
of   the  monastic  life,  the  tranquillity  and  blessed 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  23 

privations  of  the  cloister,  as  made  the  heart  of  the 
doo^e  to  burn  within  him.  "If  thou  wouldst  be  per- 
fect"— said  the  abbot,  as  on  another  occasion  a 
greater  voice  had  said.  *'Oh,  benefactor  of  my 
soul!"  cried  the  doge,  beholding  a  vista  of  new  hope 
opening  before  him,  a  halcyon  world  of  quiet, 
a  life  of  sacrifice  and  prayer.  He  had  already  for 
years  lived  like  a  monk,  putting  all  the  indulgences 
of  wealth  and  even  affection  aside.  For  the  moment, 
however,  he  had  too  many  occupations  on  his  hands 
to  make  retirement  possible.  He  asked  for  a  year 
in  which  to  arrange  his  affairs;  to  put  order  in  the 
republic  and  liberate  himself.  With  this  agree- 
ment the  abbot  left  him,  but  true  to  his  engage- 
ment, when  the  heats  of  September  were  once  more 
blazing  on  the  lagoon,  came  back  to  his  penitent. 
The  doge  in  the  meantime  had  made  all  his  arrange- 
ments. No  doubt  it  was  in  this  solemn  year,  which 
no  one  knew  was  to  be  the  end  of  his  life  in  the 
world,  that  he  set  aside  so  large  a  part  of  his  pos- 
sessions for  the  prosecution  of  the  buildings  which 
now  he  could  no  longer  hope  to  see  completed. 
When  all  these  preliminaries  were  settled,  and 
everything  done,  Orseolo,  with  a  chosen  friend  or 
two,  one  of  them  his  son-in-law,  the  sharer  of  his 
thoughts  and  his  prayers,  took  boat  silently  one 
night  across  the  still  lagoon  to  Fusina,  where  horses 
awaited  them;  and  so,  flying  in  the  darkness  over 
the  mainland,  abandoned  the  cares  of  the  prince- 
dom and  the  world. 

Of  the  chaos  that  was  left  behind,  the  consterna- 
tion of  the  family,  the  confusion  of  the  state,  the 
record  says  nothing.  This  was  not  the  view  of  the 
matter  which  occurred  to  the  primitive  mind.  We 
are  apt  to  think  with  reprobation,  perhaps  too 
strongly  expressed,  of  the  cowardice  of  duties  aban- 
doned and  the  cruelty  of  ties  broken.  But  in  the 
early  ages  no  one  seems  to  have  taken  this  view. 
The  sacrifice  made  by  a  prince,  who  gave  up  power 
and    freedom,  and  all  the  advantages  of  an  exalted 


^4  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

position,  in  order  to  accept  privation  and  poverty 
for  the  love  of  God,  was  more  perceptible  then  to  the 
general  intelligence  than  the  higher  self-denial  of 
supporting,  for  the  love  of  God,  the  labors  and  mis- 
eries of  his  exalted  but  dangerous  office.  The 
tumult  and  commotion  which  followed  the  flight  of 
Orseolo  were  not  mingled  with  blame  or  reproach. 
The  doge,  in  the  eyes  of  his  generation,  chose  the 
better  part,  and  offered  a  sacrifice  with  which  God 
Himself  could  not  but  be  well  pleased. 

He  was  but  fifty  when  he  left  Venice, 'having 
reigned  a  little  over  two  years.  Guarino  placed  his 
friend  under  the  spiritual  rule  of  a  certain  stern 
and  holy  man,  the  saintly  Romoaldo,  in  whose  life 
and  legend  we  find  the  only  record  of  Pietro  Orse- 
olo's  latter  days.  St  Romoaldo  was  the  founder  of 
the  order  of  the  Camaldolites,  practicing  in  his  own 
person  the  greatest  austerity  of  life,  and  imposing 
it  upon  his  monks,  to  whom  he  refused  even  the 
usual  relaxation  of  better  fare  on  Sunday,  which 
had  been  their  privilege.  The  noble  Venetians, 
taken  from  the  midst  of  their  liberal  and  splendid 
life,  were  set  to  work  at  the  humble  labors  of  hus- 
bandmen upon  this  impoverished  diet.  He  who 
had  been  the  Doge  Pietro  presently  found  that  he 
was  incapable  of  supporting  so  austere  a  rule. 
"Wherefore  he  humbly  laid  himself  at  the  feet  of 
the  blessed  Romoaldo,  and  being  bidden  to  rise, 
with  shame  confessed  his  weakness.  'Father, '  he 
said,  'as  I  have  a  great  body,  I  cannot  for  my  sins 
sustain  my  strength  with  this  morsel  of  hard 
bread.*  Romoaldo,  having  compassion  on  the 
frailty  of  his  body,  added  another  portion  of  biscuit 
to  the  usual  measure,  and  thus  held  out  the  hand  of 
pity  to  the  sinking  brother."  The  comic  pathos  of 
the  complaint  of  the  big  Venetian,  bred  amid  the 
freedom  of  the  seas,  and  expected  to  live  and  work 
upon  half  a  biscuit,  is  beyond  comment. 

He  lived  many  years  in  the  humility  of  conven- 
tual   subjection,  and  died,  apparently  without  any 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  25 

advancement  in  religious  life,  in  the  far  distance  of 
France,  never  seeing  his  Venice  again.  In  after 
years,  his  son,  who  was  only  fifteen  at  the  period 
of  the  doge's  flight,  and  who  was  destined,  in  his 
turn,  to  do  so  much  for  Venice,  visited  his  father 
in  his  obscure  retirement.  The  meeting  between 
the  almost  too  generous  father,  who  had  given  so 
much  to  Venice,  and  had  completed  the  offering  by 
giving  up  himself  at  last  to  the  hard  labors  and 
humility  of  monastic  life,  and  the  ambitious  youth, 
full  of  the  highest  projects  of  patriotism  and  cour- 
age, must  have  been  a  remarkable  scene.  The 
elder  Pietro  in  his  cloister  had,  no  doubt,  pondered 
much  on  Venice  and  on  the  career  of  the  boy  whom 
he  had  left  behind  him  there,  and  whose  character 
and  qualities  must  have  already  shown  themselves; 
and  much  was  said  between  them  on  this  engross- 
ing subject.  Orseolo,  "whether  by  the  spirit  of 
prophecy  or  by  special  revelation,  predicted  to  him 
all  that  was  to  happen.  'I  know,*  he  said,  'my  son, 
that  they  will  make  you  doge,  and  that  you  will 
prosper.  Take  care  to  preserve  the  rights  ot  the 
Church  and  those  of  your  subjects.  Be  not  drawn 
aside  from  doing  justice,  either  by  love  or  by  hate." 

Better  counsel  could  no  fallen  monarch  give,  and 
Orseolo  was  happier  than  many  fathers  in  a  son 
worthy  of  him. 

The  city  deprived  of  such  a  prince  was  very  sad, 
but  still  more  full  of  longing:  Molio  trista,  ma  pm 
desiderosa,  says  Sabellico;  and  his  family  remained 
dear  to  Venice — for  as  long  as  popular  favor  usually 
lasts.  Pietro  died,  nineteen  years  after,  in  the 
odor  of  sanctity,  and  was  canonized,  to  the  glory 
of  his  city.  His  breve,  the  inscription  under  his 
portrait  in  the  great  hall,  attributes  to  him  the 
building  of  San  Marco,  as  well  as  many  miracles 
and  wonderful  works.  The  miracles,  however,  were 
performed  far  from  Venice,  and  have  no  place  in 
her  records,  except  those  deeds  of  charity  and  ten- 
derness which  he  accomplished  among  his  people 


26  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

before  he  left  them.  These  the  existing  corpora- 
tion of  Venice,  never  unwilling-  to  chronicle  either 
a  new  or  antique  glory,  have  lately  celebrated  by 
an  inscription,  which  the  traveler  will  see  from  the 
little  bay  in  which  the  canal  terminates,  just  behind 
the  upper  end  of  the  Piazza.  This  little  triangular 
opening  among  the  tall  houses  is  called  the  Bacino 
Orseolo,  and  bears  a  marble  tablet  to  the  honor  of 
the  first  Pietro  of  this  name,  il  santo,  high  upon  the 
wall. 

In  the  agitation  and  trouble  caused  by  Orseolo's 
unexpected  disappearance,  a  period  of  discord  and 
disaster  began.  A  member  of  the  Candiano  party 
was  placed  in  the  doge's  seat  for  a  short  and  agi- 
tated reign,  and  he  was  succeeded  by  a  rich  but 
feeble  prince,  in  whose  time  occurred  almost  the 
worst  disorders  that  have  ever  been  known  in 
Venice — a  bloody  struggle  between  two  families, 
one  of  which  had  the  unexampled  baseness  of  seek- 
ing the  aid  against  their  native  city  of  foreign  arms. 
The  only  incident  which  we  need  mention  of  this 
disturbed  period  is  that  the  Doge  Memmo  bestowed 
upon  Giovanni  Morosini,  Orseolo's  companion  and 
son-in-law,  who  had  returned  a  monk  to  his  native 
city — perhaps  called  back  by  the  misfortunes  of  his 
family — a  certain  ''beautiful  little  island  covered 
with  olives  and  cypresses,"  which  lay  opposite  the 
doge's  palace,  and  is  known  now  to  every  visitor  of 
Venice  as  St.  Georgio  Maggiore.  There  was 
already  a  chapel  dedicated  to  St.  George  among  the 
trees. 

Better  things,  however,  were  now  in  store  for  the 
republic.  After  the  incapable  Memmo,  young 
Pietro  was  called, according  to  his  father's  prophecy, 
to  the  ducal  throne.  "When  the  future  historian 
of  Venice  comes  to  the  deeds  of  this  great  doge  he 
will  feel  his  soul  enlarged,"  says  Sagredo,  the 
author  of  a  valuable  study  of  Italian  law  and  eco- 
nomics; "it  is  no  more  a  newborn  people  of  whom 
he  will  have  to  speak,  but  an   adult   nation,  rich, 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  27 

conquering,  full  of  traffic  and  wealth. ' '  The  new 
prince  had  all  the  qualities  which  were  wanted  for 
the  consolidation  and  development  of  the  republic. 
He  had  known  something  of  that  bitter  but  effec- 
tual training  of  necessity  which  works  so  nobly  in 
generous  natures.  His  father's  brief  career  in 
Venice,  and  his  counsels  from  his  cell,  were  before 
him,  both  as  example  and  encouragement.  He  had 
been  in  France;  he  had  seen  the  world.  He  had 
an  eye  to  mark  that  the  moment  had  come  for 
larger  action  and  bolder  self-assertion,  and  he  had 
strength  of  mind  to  carry  his  conceptions  out.  And 
he  had  that  touching  advantage — the  stepping- 
stone  of  a  previous  life  sacrificed  and  unfulfilled — 
upon  which  to  raise  the  completeness  of  his  own. 
In  short,  he  was  the  man  of  the  time,  prepared  to 
carry  out  the  wishes  and  realize  the  hopes  of  his 
age;  and  when  he  became,  at  the  age  of  thirty,  in 
the  fullness  of  youthful  strength  the  first  magis- 
trate of  Venice,  a  new  chapter  of  her' history  began. 
It  was  in  the  year  991,  on  the  eve  of  a  new  cen- 
tury, sixteen  years  after  his  father's  abdication,  that 
the  second  Pietro  Orseolo  began  to  reign.  The 
brawls  of  civil  contention  disappeared  on  his  acces- 
sion, and  the  presence  of  a  prince  who  was  at  the 
same  time  a  strong  man,  and  fully  determined  to 
defend  and  extend  his  dominion,  became  instantly 
apparent  to  the  world.  His  first  acts  were  directed 
to  secure  the  privileges  of  Venice  by  treaty  with 
the  emperors  of  the  East  and  West,  establishing  her 
position  by  written  charter  under  the  golden  seal 
of  Constantinople,  and  with  not  less  efficacy  from 
the  imperial  chancellorship  of  the  German  Otto. 
On  both  sides  an  extension  of  privilege  and  the 
remission  of  certain  tributes  were  secured.  Hav- 
ing settled  this,  Pietro  turned  his  attention  to  the 
great  necessity  of  the  moment,  upon  which  the  very 
existence  of  the  republic  depended.  Up  to  this 
time  Venice,  to  free  herself  from  the  necessity  of 
holding  the  rudder  in  one  hand  and  the  sword  iu 


28  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

the  other,  had  paid  a  certain  blackmail,  such  as  was 
exacted  till  recent  times  by  the  corsairs  of  Africa, 
to  the  pirate  tribes,  who  were  the  scourge  of  the 
seas,  sometimes  called  Narentani,  sometimes  Schia- 
voni  and  Croats,  by  the  chroniclers,  allied  bands  of 
sea  robbers  who  infested  the  Adriatic.  The  time 
had  come,  however,  when  it  was  no  longer  seemly 
that  the  proud  city,  growing  daily  in  power  and 
wealth,  should  stoop  to  secure  her  safety  by  such 
means.  The  payment  was  accordingly  stopped,  and 
an  encounter  followed,  in  which  the  pirates  were 
defeated.  Enraged  but  impotent,  not  daring  to 
attack  Venice,  or  risk  their  galleys  in  the  intricate 
channels  of  the  lagoons,  they  set  upon  the  unoffend- 
ing towns  of  Dalmatia,  and  made  a  raid  along  the 
coast,  robbing  and  ravaging.  The  result  was  that 
from  all  the  neighboring  seaboard  ambassadors 
arrived  in  haste,  asking  the  help  of  the  Venetians. 
The  cruelties  of  the  corsairs  had  already,  more  than 
once,  reduced  the  seaports  and  prosperous  cities  of 
this  coast  to  the  point  of  desperation,  and  they 
caught  at  the  only  practicable  help  with  the  precip- 
itancy of  suffering.  The  doge  thus  found  the  oppor- 
tunity he  sought,  and  took  advantage  of  it  without 
a  moment's  delay.  At  once  the  arsenal  was  set  to 
work,  and  a  great  armata  decided  upon.  The  appeal 
thus  made  by  the  old  to  the  new — the  ancient  cities, 
which  had  been  in  existence  while  she  was  but  a 
collection  of  swamp  and  salt-water  marshes,  seek- 
ing deliverance  from  the  newborn,  miraculous  city 
of  the  sea — is  the  most  striking  testimony  to  the 
growing  importance  of  Venice.  It  was  at  the  same 
time  her  opportunity  and  the  beginning  of  her  con- 
quests and  victories. 

When  the  great  expedition  was  ready  to  set  out, 
the  doge  went  in  solemn  state  to  the  cathedral 
church  of  San  Pietro  in  Castello,  and  received  from 
the  hands  of  the  bishop  the  standard  of  San  Marco, 
with  which  he  went  on  board.  It  was  spring  when 
the  galleys  sailed,  and  Dandolo  tells  us  that  they 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  29 

were  blown  by  contrary  winds  to  Grado,  where 
Vitale  Candiano  was  now  peacefully  occupying  his 
see  as  patriarch.  Perhaps  something  of  the  old 
feud  still  subsisting  made  Orseolo  unwilling  to 
enter  the  port  in  which  the  son  of  the  murdered 
doge,  whom  his  own  father  had  succeeded,  was 
supreme.  But  if  this  had  been  the  case,  his  doubts 
must  have  soon  been  set  at  rest  by  the  patriarch's 
welcome.  He  came  out  to  meet  the  storm-driven 
fleet  with  his  clergy  and  his  people,  and  added  to 
the  armament  not  only  his  blessing,  but  the  stand- 
ard of  St.  Harmagora  to  bring  them  victory.  Thus 
endowed,  with  the  two  blessed  banners  blowing 
over  them,  the  expedition  set  sail  once  more.  The 
account  of  the  voyage  that  follows  is  for  some  time 
that  of  a  kind  of  ro5^al  progress  by  sea,  the  galleys 
passing  in  triumph  from  one  port  to  another,  antic- 
ipated by  processions  coming  out  to  meet  them: 
bishops  with  their  clergy  streaming  forth,  and  all 
the  citizens,  private  and  public,  hurrying  to  offer 
their  allegiance  to  their  defenders.  Wherever  holy 
relics  were  enshrined,  the  doge  landed  to  visit  them 
and  pay  his  devotions;  and  everywhere  he  was  met 
by  ambassadors  tendering  the  submission  of  another 
and  another  town  or  village,  declaring  themselves 
''willingly"  subjects  of  the  republic,  and  enrolling 
their  young  men  among  its  soldiers.  That  this 
submission  was  not  so  real  as  it  appeared  is  proved 
by  the  subsequent  course  of  events  and  the  perpe- 
tual rebellions  of  those  very  cities;  but  in  their 
moment  of  need  nothing  but  enthusiasm  and  delight 
were  apparent  to  the  deliverers.  At  Trau  a 
brother  of  the  Schiavonian  king  fell  into  the  hands 
of  the  doge  and  sought  his  protection,  giving  up 
his  son  Stefano  as  a  hostage  into  the  hands  of  the 
conquering  prince. 

At  last,  having  cleared  the  seas,  the  expedition 
came  to  the  nest  of  robbers  itself,  the  impregnable 
city  of  Lagosta.  "It  is  said,"  Sabellico  reports 
with  a  certain  awe,  "that  its  position  was  pointed 


30  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

out  by  the  precipices  on  each  side  rising  up  in  the 
midst  of  the  sea.  The  Narentani  trusted  in  its 
strength,  and  here  all  the  corsairs  took  refuge, 
when  need  was,  as  in  a  secure  fortress. ' '  The  doge 
summoned  the  garrison  to  surrender,  which  they 
would  gladly  have  done,  the  same  historian  informs 
us,  had  they  not  feared  the  destruction  of  their  city; 
but  on  that  account,  *'for  love  of  their  country,  than 
which  there  is  nothing  more  dear  to  men,"  they 
made  a  stubborn  defense.  Dandolo  adds  that  the 
doge  required  the  destruction  of  this  place  as  a  con- 
dition of  peace.  'After  a  desperate  struggle  the 
fortress  was  taken,  notwithstanding  the  natural 
strength  of  the  rocky  heights  —  the  ' asprezza  de* 
luoglit  neir  ascejidere  difficile — and  of  the  Rocca  or 
great  tower  that  crowned  the  whole.  The  object 
of  the  expedition  was  fully  accomplished  when  the 
pirates'  nest  and  stronghold  was  destroyed.  "For 
nearly  a  hundred  and  sixty  years  the  possession  of 
the  sea  had  been  contested  with  varying  fortune;" 
now,  once  for  all,  the  matter  was  settled.  *'The 
army  returned  victorious  to  the  ships.  The  prince 
had  purged  the  sea  of  robbers,  and  all  the  maritime 
parts  of  Istria,  of  Liburnia  and  of  Dalmatia,  were 
brought  under  the  power  of  Venice."  With  what 
swelling  sails,  con  vento  prosper o^  the  fleet  must  have 
swept  back  to  the  anxious  city  which,  with  no  post 
nor  dispatch  boat  to  carry  her  tidings,  gazed  silent, 
waiting  in  that  inconceivable  patience  of  old  times, 
with  anxious  eyes  watching  the  horizon!  How 
the  crowds  must  have  gathered  on  the  old  primitive 
quays  when  the  first  faint  rumor  flew  from  Mala- 
mocco  and  the  other  sentinel  isles  of  sails  at  hand! 
How  many  boats  must  have  darted  forth,  their 
rowers  half  distracted  with  haste  and  suspense,  to 
meet  the  returning  annata  and  know  the  worst! 
Who  can  doubt  that  then,  as  always,  there  were 
some  to  whom  the  good  news  brought  anguish  and 
sorrow ;  but  of  that  the  chroniclers  tell  us  nothing. 
And  among  all  our  supposed  quickening  of  life  in 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  31 

modern  times,  can  we  imagine  a  moment  of  living 
more  intense,  or  sensations  more  acute,  than  those 
which  the  whole  city  must  have  watched,  one  by- 
one,  the  galleys  bearing  along  with  them  their 
tokens  of  victory,  threading  their  way,  slow  even 
with  the  most  prosperous  wind,  through  the  wind- 
ings of  the  narrow  channels,  until  the  first  man 
could  leap  on  shore  and  the  wonderful  news  be 
told? 

"There  was  then  no  custom  of  triumphs,"  says 
the  record,  *'but  the  doge  entered  the  city  triumph- 
ant, surrounded  by  the  grateful  people ;  and  there 
made  public  declaration  of  all  the  things  he  had 
done — bow  all  Istria  and  the  seacoast  to  the  furthest 
confines  of  Dalmatia  with  all  the  neighboring 
islands,  by  the  clemency  of  God  and  the  success  of 
the  expedition,  were  made  subject  to  the  Venetian 
dominion.  With  magnificent  words  he  was  ap- 
plauded by  the  Great  Council,  which  ordained  that 
not  only  of  Venice  but  of  Dalmatia  he  and  his  suc- 
cessors should  be  proclaimed  doge." 

Thus  the  first  great  conquest  of  the  Venetians  was 
accomplished,  and  the  infant  city  made  mistress  of 
the  seas. 

It  was  on  the  return  of  Pietro  Orseolo  from  this 
triumphant  expedition,  and  in  celebration  of  his  con- 
quests, that  the  great  national  festivity,  called  in 
after  days  the  Espousal  of  the  Sea,  the  Feast  of  La 
Sensa,  Ascension  Day,  was  first  instituted.  The 
original  ceremony  was  simpler,  but  little  less  impos- 
ing than  its  later  development.  The  clergy  in  a 
barge  all  covered  with  cloth  of  gold,  and  in  all  pos- 
sible glory  of  vestments  and  sacred  ornaments,  set 
out  from  among  the  olive  woods  of  San  Pietro  in 
Castello,  and  met  the  doge  in  his  still  more  splendid 
barge  at  the  Lido,  where,  after  litanies  and  psalms, 
the  bishop  rose  and  prayed  aloud  in  the  hearing  of 
all  the  people,  gathered  in  boat  and  barge  and 
every  skiff  that  would  hold  water,  in  a  far-extending 
crowd    along  the   sandy  line  of    the    flat    shore. 


32  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

"Grant,  O  Lord,  that  this  sea  may  be  to  us  and  to 
all  who  sail  upon  it  tranquil  and  quiet.  To  this  end 
we  pray.  Hear  us^  good  Lord."  Then  the  boat 
of  the  ecclesiastics  approached  closely  the  boat  of 
the  doge,  and  while  the  singers  intoned  ''Aspergt 
me,  0  SignofJ*  the  bishop  sprinkled  the  doge  and 
his  court  with  holy  water,  pouring  what  remained 
into  the  sea.  A  very  touching  ceremonial,  more 
primitive  and  simple,  perhaps  more  real  and  likely 
to  go  to  the  hearts  of  the  seafaring  population  all 
gathered  round,  than  the  more  elaborate  and  tri- 
umphant histrionic  spectacle  of  the  Sposallzio.  It 
had  been  on  Ascension  Day  that  Orseolo's  expedi- 
tion had  set  forth,  and  no  day  could  be  more  suitable 
than  his  victorious  day  of  early  summer,  when 
Nature  is  at  her  sweetest,  for  the  great  festival  of 
the  lagoons. 

These  victories  and  successes  must  have  spread 
the  name  of  the  Venetians  arid  their  doge  far  and 
wide;  and  it  is  evident  that  they  had  moved  the 
imagination  of  the  young  Emperor  Otto  II.,  be- 
tween whom  and  Orseolo  a  link  of  union  had  already 
been  formed  through  the  doge's  third  son,  who  had 
been  sent  to  the  court  of  Verona  to  receive  there 
the  Sacramento  delta  chrisma,  the  rite  of  confirma- 
tion, under  the  auspices  of  the  emperor,  who 
changed  the  boy's  name  from  Pietro  to  Otto,  in  sign 
of  high  favor  and  affection.  When  the  news  of  the 
conquest  of  Dalmatia,  the  extinction  of  the  pirates, 
and  all  the  doge's  great  achievements  reached  the 
emperor's  ears,  his  desire  to  know  so  remarkable  a 
man  grew  so  strong  that  an  anonymous  visit  was 
planned  between  them.  Under  the  pretext  of  tak- 
ing sea-baths  at  an  obscure  island.  Otto  made  a  sud- 
den and  secret  dash  across  the  sea  and  reached  the 
convent  of  San  Servolo,  on  the  island  which  still 
bears  that  name,  and  which  is  now  one  of  the  two 
melancholy  asylums  for  the  insane  which  stand  on 
either  side  of  the  water-way  opposite  Venice.  The 
doge  hurried  across  the  water  as  soon  as  night  had 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  33 

come,  to  see  his  imperial  visitor,  and  brought  him 
back  to  pay  his  devotions,  **according  to  Otto's 
habit,"  at  the  shrine  of  San  Marco.  Let  us  hope 
the  moon  was  resplendent,  as  she  knows  how  to  be 
over  those  waters,  when  the  doge  brought  the  em- 
peror over  the  shining  lagoon  in  what  primitive 
form  of  gondola  was  then  in  fashion,  with  the  dark 
forms  of  the  rowers  standing  out  against  the  silvery 
background  of  sea  and  sky,  and  the  little  waves  in 
a  thousand  ripples  of  light  reflecting  the  glory  of 
the  heavens.  One  can  imagine  the  nocturnal  visit, 
the  hasty  preparations ;  and  the  great  darkness  of 
San  Marco,  half  built,  with  all  its  scaffoldings 
ghostly  in  the  silence  of  the  night,  and  one  bright 
illuminated  spot,  the  hasty  blaze  of  the  candles  flar- 
ing about  the  shrine.  When  the  emperor  had  said 
his  prayers  before  the  sacred  spot  which  contained 
the  body  of  the  Evangelist,  the  patron  of  Venice, 
he  was  taken  into  the  palace,  which  filled  him  with 
wonder  and  admiration,  so  beautiful  was  the  house 
which  out  of  the  burning  and  ruins  of  twenty  years 
before  had  now  apparently  been  completed.  It  is 
said  by  Sagornino  (the  best  authority)  that  Otto 
was  secretly  lodged  in  the  eastern  tower,  and  from 
thence  made  private  expeditions  into  the  city,  and 
saw  everything;  but  later  chroniclers,  probably 
deriving  these  details  from  traditional  sources,  in- 
crease the  romance  of  the  visit  by  describing  him  as 
recrossing  to  San  Servolo,  whither  the  doge  would 
steal  off  privately  every  night  to  sup  domesticamente 
with  his  guest.  In  one  of  the  night  visits  to  San 
Marco  the  doge's  little  daughter,  newly  born,  was 
christened,  the  emperor  himself  holding  her  at  the 
font  Perhaps  this  little  domestic  circumstance, 
which  disabled  her  Serenity  the  Dogaressa,  had 
something  to  do  with  the  secrecy  of  the  visit,  which 
does  not  seem  sufficiently  accounted  for,  unless,  as 
some  opine,  the  emperor  wanted  secretly  to  consult 
Orseolo  on  great  plans  which  he  did  not  live  to 
carry  out.  Three  days  after  Otto's  departure  the 
8  Venice 


S4  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

doge  called  the  people  together  and  informed  them 
ot  the  visit  he  had  received,  and  further  concessions 
and  privileges  which  he  had  secured  for  Venice. 
*' Which  things,"  says  the  record,  "were  pleasant  to 
them,  and  they  applauded  the  industry  of  Orseolo 
in  concealing  the  presence  of  so  great  a  lord." 
Here  it  is  a  little  difficult  to  follow  the  narrator.  It 
would  be  more  natural  to  suppose  that  the  Vene- 
tians, always  fond  of  a  show,  might  have  shown  a 
little  disappointment  at  being  deprived  of  the  sight 
of  such  a  fine  visitor.  It  is  said  by  some,  however, 
that  to  celebrate  the  great  event,  and  perhaps  make 
up  to  the  people  for  not  having  seen  the  emperor, 
a  tournament  of  several  days'  duration  was  held  by 
Orseolo  in  the  waste  ground  which  is  now  the 
Piazza.  At  all  events  the  incident  only  increased 
his  popularity. 

Nor  was  this  the  only  honor  which  came  to  his 
house.  Some  time  after  the  city  of  Bari  was  saved 
by  Orseolo's  arms  and  valor  from  an  invasion  of  the 
Saracens;  and  the  grateful  emperors  of  the  East, 
Basil  and  Constantine,  by  way  of  testifying  .their 
thanks,  invited  the  doge's  eldest  son  Giovanni  to 
Constantinople,  where  he  was  received  with  a 
princely  welcome,  and  shortly  after  married  to  a  prin- 
cess of  the  imperial  house.  When  the  young  couple 
returned  to  Venice  they  were  received  with  extra- 
ordinary honors,  festivities,  and  delight;  the  doge 
going  to  meet  them  with  a  splendid  train  of  vessels, 
and  such  rejoicing  as  had  never  before  been  beheld 
in  Venice.  And  permission  was  given  to  Orseolo  to 
associate  his  son  with  him  in  his  authority — a  favor 
only  granted  to  those  whom  Venice  most  delighted 
to  honor,  and  which  was  the  highest  expression  of 
popular  confidence  and  trust. 

"But  since  there  is  no  human  happiness  which  is 
not  disturbed  by  some  adversity,"  says  the  sympa- 
thetic chronicle,  trouble  and  sorrow  now  burst  upon 
this  happy  and  prosperous  reign.  First  came  a 
great  pestilence,  by  which  the  young  Giovanai.  the 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  35 

hope  of  the  house,  the  newly  appointed  coadjutor, 
was  carried  off,  along  with  his  wife  and  infant  child, 
and  which  carried  dismay  and  loss  throughout  the 
city.  Famine  followed  naturally  upon  the  epidemic 
and  the  accompanying  panic,  which  paralyzed 
all  exertion — and  mourning  and  misery  prevailed. 
His  domestic  grief  and  the  public  misfortune 
would  seem  to  have  broken  the  heart  of  the 
great  doge.  After  Giovanni's  death  he  was  per- 
mitted to  take  his  younger  son  Otto  as  his  coadjutor 
but  even  this  did  not  avail  to  comfort  him.  He 
made  a  remarkable  will,  dividing  his  goods  into 
two  parts,  one  for  his  children,  another  for  the  poor, 
*'for  the  use  and  solace  of  all  in  our  republic" — a 
curious  phrase,  by  some  supposed  to  mean  enter- 
tainments and  public  pleasures,  by  others  relief 
from  taxes  and  public  burdens.  When  he  died  his 
body  was  carried  to  San  Zaccaria,  per  la  tnsta  citta  e 
lachnmosa^  with  all  kinds  of  magnificence  and 
honor.     And  Otto  his  son  reigned  in  his  stead. 

Otto,  it  is  evident,  must  have  appeared  up  to 
this  time  the  favorite  of  fortune,  the  flower  of  the 
Orseoli.  He  had  been  half  adopted  by  the 
emperor;  he  had  made  a  magnificent  marriage  with 
a  princess  of  Hungary;  he  had  been  sent  on  embas- 
sies and  foreign  missions;  and  finally,  when  his 
elder  brother  died,  he  had  been  associated  with  his 
father  as  his  coadjutor  and  successor.  He  was  still 
young  when  Pietro's  death  gave  him  the  full 
authority  (though  his  age  can  scarcely  have  been, 
as  Sabellico  says,  nineteen).  His  character  is  said 
to  have  been  as  perfect  as  his  position.  "He  was 
Catholic  in  faith,  calm  in  virtue,  strong  in  justice, 
eminent  in  religion,  decorous  in  his  way  of  living, 
great  in  riches,  and  so  full  of  all  kinds  of  goodness 
that  by  his  merits  he  was  judged  of  all  to  be  the 
most  fit  successor  of  his  excellent  father  and  blessed 
grandfather,"  says  Doge  Dandolo.  But  perhaps 
these  abstract  virtues  were  not  of  the  kind  to  fit  a 
man  for  the  difficult  position  of  doge,  in  the  midst 


86  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

of  a  jealous  multitude  of  his  equals,  all  as  eligible 
for  that  throne  as  he,  and  keenly  on  the  watch  to 
stop  any  succession  which  looked  like  the  beginning 
of  a  dynasty.  Otto  had  been  much  about  courts; 
he  had  learned  how  emperors  were  served;  and 
his  habits,  perhaps,  had  been  formed  at  that  duc- 
tile time  of  life  when  he  was  caressed  as  the  god- 
son of  the  imperial  Otto,  and  as  a  near  connection 
of  the  still  more  splendid  emperors  of  the  East. 
And  it  was  not  only  he,  whose  preferment  was  a 
direct  proof  of  national  gratitude  to  his  noble 
father,  against  whom  a  jealous  rival,  a  (perhaps) 
anxious  nationalist,  had  to  guard.  His  brother 
Orso,  who  during  his  father's  lifetime  had  been 
made  Bishop  of  Torcello,  was  elevated  to  the  higher 
office  of  patriarch  and  transferred  to  Crado  some 
years  after  his  brother's  accession,  so  that  the  high- 
est power  and  place,  both  secular  and  sacred,  were 
in  the  hands  of,  one  family — a  fact  which  would  give 
occasion  for  many  an  insinuation,  and  leaven  the 
popular  mind  with  suspicion  and  alarm. 

It  was  through  the  priestly  brother  Orso  that  the 
first  attack  upon  the  family  of  the  Orseoli  came. 
Otto  had  reigned  for  some  fifteen  or  sixteen  years 
with  advantage  and  honor  to  the  republic,  showing 
himself  a  worthy  son  of  his  father,  and  keeping  the 
authority  of  Venice  paramount  along  the  unruly 
Dalmatian  coast,  where  rebellions  were  things  of 
yearly  occurrence,  when  trouble  first  appeared.  Of 
Orso,  the  patriarch,  up  to  this  time,  little  has  been 
heard,  save  that  it  was  he  who  rebuilt,  or  restored, 
out  of  the  remains  of  the  earlier  church,  the  cathe- 
dral of  Torcello,  still  the  admiration  of  all  behold- 
ers. His  grandfather  had  begun,  his  father  had 
carried  on,  the  great  buildings  of  Venice,  the  church 
and  the  palace,  which  the  Emperor  Otto  had  come 
secretly  to  see,  and  which  he  had  found  beautiful 
beyond  all  imagination.  It  would  be  difficult  now 
to  determine  what  corner  of  antique  work  may  still 
remain  in  that  glorious  group  which  is  theirs.     But 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  37 

Orso's  cathedral  still  stands  distinct,  lifting-  its  lofty 
walls  over  the  low  edge  of  green,  which  is  all  that 
separates  it  from  the  sea.  His  foot  has  trod  the 
broken  mosaics  of  the  floor;  his  voice  has  intoned 
canticle  and  litany  tinder  that  lofty  roof.  The 
knowledge  that  framed  the  present  edifice,  the  rev- 
erence which  preserved  for  its  decoration  all  those 
lovely  relics  of  earlier  times,  the  delicate  Greek 
columns,  the  enrichments  of  Eastern  art — were,  if 
not  his,  fostered  and  protected  by  him.  Behind  the 
high  altar,  on  the  bishop's  high  cold  marble  throne 
overlooking  the  great  temple,  he  must  have  sat 
among  his  presbyters,  and  controlled  the  counsels 
and  led  the  decisions  of  a  community  then  active 
and  wealthy,  which  has  now  disappeared  as  com- 
pletely as  the  hierarchy  of  priests  which  once  filled 
those  rows  of  stony  benches.  The  ruins  of  the  old 
Torcello  are  now  but  mounds  under  the  damp 
grass;  but  Bishop  Orso's  work  stands  fast,  as  his 
name,  in  faithful  brotherly  allegiance  and  magnani- 
mous truth  to  his  trust,  ought  to  stand. 

The  attack  came  from  a  certain  Poppo,  Patriarch 
of  Aquileia,  an  ecclesiastic  of  the  most  warlike 
mediaeval  type,  ot  German  extraction  or  race,  who, 
perhaps  with  the  desire  of  reasserting  the  old 
supremacy  of  his  see  over  that  of  Grado,  perhaps 
stirred  up  by  the  factions  in  Venice,  which  v/ere 
beginning  to  conspire  against  the  Orseoli,  began  to 
threaten  the  seat  of  Bishop  Orso.  The  records  are 
very  vague  as  to  the  means  employed  by  this  epis- 
copal warrior.  He  accused  Orso  before  the  Pope  as 
an  intruder  not  properly  elected;  but,  without  wait- 
ing for  any  decision  on  that  point,  assailed  him  in 
his  see.  Possibly  Poppo's  attack  on  Grado  coin- 
cided with  tumults  in  the  city, — "great  discord 
between  the  people  of  Venice  and  the  doge," — so 
that  both  the  brothers  were  threatened  at  once.  How- 
ever that  may  be,  the  next  event  in  the  history  is 
the  flight  of  both  doge  and  patriarch  to  Istria — an 
extraordinary    event,  of  which    no    explanation  is 


38  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

given  by  any  of  the  authorities.  They  were  both 
in  the  prime  of  life,  and  had  still  a  great  party  in 
their  favor,  so  that:  it  seems  impossible  not  to  con- 
jecture some  weakness,  most  likely  on  the  part  of 
the  Doge  Otto,  to  account  for  this  abandonment  of 
the  position  to  their  enemies.  That  there  were 
great  anarchy  and  misery  in  Venice  during  the  in- 
terval of  the  prince's  absence  is  evident,  but  how 
long  it  lasted,  or  how  it  came  about,  we  are  not  in- 
formed. All  that  the  chroniclers  say  (for  by  this 
time  the  guidance  of  Sagornino  has  failed  us,  and 
there  is  no  contemporary  chronicle  to  refer  to)  con- 
cerns Grado,  which,  in  the  absence  of  its  bishop, 
was  taken  by  the  lawless  Poppo.  He  swore  "by 
his  eight  oaths,"  says  Sanudo,  that  he  meant  noth- 
ing but  good  to  that  hapless  city;  but  as  soon  as  he 
got  within  the  gates  gave  it  up  to  the  horrors  of  a 
sack,  outraging  its  population  and  removing  the 
treasure  from  its  churches,  Venice,  alarmed  by 
this  unmasking  of  the  designs  of  the  clerical  in- 
vader, repented  her  own  hasty  folly,  and  recalled 
her  doge,  who  recovered  Grado  for  her  with  a 
promptitude  and  courage  which  make  his  flight, 
without  apparently  striking  a  blow  for  himself,  more 
remarkable  still.  But  this  renewed  prosperity  was 
of  short  duration.  The  factions  that  had  arisen 
against  him  were  but  temporarily  quieted,  and  as 
soon  as  Grado  and  peace  were  restored,  broke  out 
again.  The  second  time  Otto  would  not  seem  to 
have  had  time  to  fly.  He  was  seized  by  his  ene- 
mies, his  beard  shaven  off, — whether  as  a  sign  of 
contempt,  or  by  way  of  consigning  him  to  the  clois- 
ter, that  asylum  for  dethroned  princes,  we  are  not 
told, — and  his  reign  thus  ignominiously  and  sud- 
denly brought  to  an  end. 

The  last  chapter  in  the  history  of  the  Orseoli  is, 
however,  the  most  touching  of  all.  Whatever  faults 
Otto  may  have  had  (and  the  chroniclers  will  allow 
none),  he  at  least  possessed  the  tender  love  of  his 
family.     The  Patriarch  Orso  once  more  followed 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  89 

him  into  exile :  but  coming  back  as  soon  as  safety 
permitted,  would  seem  to  have  addressed  himself 
to  the  task  of  righting  his  brother.  Venice  had  not 
thriven  upon  her  ingratitude  and  disorder.  A  cer- 
tain Domenico  Centranico,  the  enemy  of  the  Orse- 
oli,  had  been  hastily  raised  to  the  doge's  seat,  but 
could  not  restore  harmony.  Things  went  badly  on 
all  sides  for  the  agitated  and  insubordinate  city. 
The  new  emperor,  Conrad,  refused  to  ratify  the 
usual  grant  of  privileges,  perhaps  because  he  had  no 
faith  in  the  revolutionary  government.  Poppo  re- 
newed his  attacks,  the  Dalmatian  cities  seized,  as 
they  invariably  did,  the  occasion  to  rebel.  And  the 
new  doge  was  evidently,  like  so  many  other  revo- 
lutionists, stronger  in  rebellion  than  in  defense  of 
his  country.  What  with  these  griefs  and  agita- 
tions, which  contrasted  strongly  with  the  benefits 
of  peace  at  home  and  an  assured  government,  what 
with  the  pleadings  of  the  patriarch,  the  Venetians 
once  more  recognized  their  mistake.  The  chang- 
ing of  the  popular  mind  in  those  days  always 
required  a  victim,  and  Doge  Centranico  was  in  his 
turn  seized,  shaven,  and  banished.  The  crisis  re- 
calls the  primitive  chapters  of  Venetian  history, 
when  almost  every  reign  ended  in  tumult  and  mur- 
der. But  Venice  had  learned  the  advantages  of 
law  and  order,  and  the  party  of  the  Orseoli  recov- 
ered power  in  the  revulsion  of  popular  feeling. 
The  dishonored  but  rightful  doge  was  in  Constanti- 
nople, hiding  his  misfortunes  in  some  cloister  or 
other  resort  of  the  exile.  The  provisional  rulers 
of  the  republic,  whoever  they  might  be — probably 
the  chief  supporters  of  the  Orseoli — found  nothing 
so  advantageous  to  still  the  tempest  as  to  implore 
the  Patriarch  Orso  to  fill  his  brother's  place,  while 
thev  sent  a  commission  to  Constantinople  to  find 
Otto  and  bring  him  home.  The  faithful  priest  who 
had  worked  so  loyally  for  the  exile  accepted  the 
charge,  and  leaving  his  bishopric  and  its  adminis- 
tration to  his  deputies,  established  himself  in  the 


40  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

palace  where  he  had  been  born,  and  took  the  govern- 
ment of  Venice  in  his  hands.  It  was  work  to  the 
routine  of  which  he  had  been  used  all  his  life,  and 
probably  no  man  living  was  so  well  able  to  perform 
it;  and  it  might  be  supposed  that  the  natural  ambi- 
tion of  a  Venetian  and  a  member  of  a  family  which 
had  reigned  over  Venice  for  three  generations 
would  stir  even  in  a  churchman's  veins,  w'hen  he 
found  the  government  of  his  native  state  in  his 
hands;  for  the  consecration* of  the  priesthood,  how- 
ever it  may  extinguish  all  other  passions,  has  never 
been  known  altogether  to  quench  that  last  infirmity 
of  noble  minds. 

Peace  and  order  followed  the  advent  of  the 
bishop-prince  to  power.  And  meanwhile  the  em^- 
bassy  set  out,  with  a  third  brother,  Vitale,  the 
Bishop  of  Torcello,  at  its  head,  to  prove  to  the  ban- 
ished Otto  that  Venice  meant  well  by  him,  and  that 
the  ambassadors  intended  no  treachery.  Whether 
they  were  detained  by  the  hazards  of  the  sea,  or 
whether  their  time  was  employed  in  searching  out 
the  retirement  where  the  deposed  doge  had  with- 
drawn to  die,  the  voyage  of  the  embassy  occupied 
more  than  a  year,  coming  and  going.  During  these 
long  months  Orso  reigned  in  peace.  Though  he 
was  only  vice-doge,  says  Sanuda,  for  the  justice  of 
his  government  he  was  placed  by  the  Venetians  in 
the  catalogue  of  the  doges.  Not  a  word  of  censure 
is  recorded  of  his  peaceful  sway.  The  storm  seems 
changed  to  a  calm  under  the  rule  of  this  faithful 
priest.  In  the  splendor  of  those  halls  which  his 
fathers  had  built  he  watched — over  Venice  on  one 
hand,  and  on  the  other  for  the  ships  sailing  back 
across  the  lagoons,  bringing  the  banished  Otto 
home.  How  many  a  morning  must  he  have  looked 
out,  before  he  said  his  Mass,  upon  the  rising  dawn, 
and  watched  the  blueness  of  the  skies  and  seas  grow 
clear  in  the  east,  where  lay  his  bishopric,  his  flock, 
his  cathedral,  and  all  the  duties  that  were  his;  and 
with  anxious  eyes  swept  the  winding  of  the  level 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  41 

waters,  still  and  gray,  the  metallic  glimmer  of  the 
acqua  morta,  the  navigable  channels  that  gleamed 
between.  When  a  sail  came  in  sight  between  those 
lines,  stealing  up  from  Malamocco,  what  expecta- 
tions must  have  moved  his  heart !  He  was,  it  would 
appear,  a  little  older  than  Otto,  his  next  brother — 
perhaps  his  early  childish  caretaker,  before  thrones 
episcopal  or  secular  were  dreamed  of  for  the  boys; 
and  a  priest,  who  has  neither  wife  nor  children  of 
his  own,  has  double  room  in  his  heart  for  the  pas- 
sion of  fraternity.  It  would  not  seem  that  Orso  took 
more  power  upon  him  than  was  needful  for  the  in- 
terests of  the  people ;  there  is  no  record  of  war  in 
his  brief  sway.  He  struck  a  small  coin,  una  moneta 
ptccola  d argento,  called  Orseolo,  but  did  nothing  else 
save  keep  peace,  and  preserve  his  brother's  place 
for  him.  But  when  the  ships  came  back,  their 
drooping  banners  and  mourning  array  must  have 
told  the  news  long  before  they  cast  anchor  in  the 
lagoon.  Otto  was  dead  in  exile.  There  is  nothing 
said  to  intimate  that  they  had  brought  back  even 
his  body  to  lay  it  with  his  fathers  in  San  Zaccaria. 
The  banished  prince  had  found  an  exile's  grave. 

After  this  sad  end  to  his  hopes  the  noble  Orso 
showed  how  magnanimous  and  disinterested  had 
been  his  inspiration.  Not  for  himself,  but  for  Otto 
he  had  held  that  trust.  He  laid  down  at  once  those 
honors  which  were  not  his,  and  returned  to  his  own 
charge  and  duties.  His  withdrawal  closes  the  story 
of  the  family  with  a  dignity  and  decorum  worthy  of 
a  great  race.  His  disappointment,  the  failure  of  all 
the  hopes  of  the  family,  all  the  anticipations  of 
brotherly  affection,  have  no  record,  but  who  can 
doubt  that  they  were  bitter?  Misfortune  more  un- 
deserved never  fell  upon  an  honorable  house,  and 
it  is  hard  to  tell  which'is  most  sad — the  death  of  the 
deposed  prince  in  the  solitude  of  that  eastern  world 
where  all  was  alien  to  him,  or,  after  a  brief  resur- 
rection of  hope,  the  withdrawal  of  the  faithful 
brother,  his  heart  sick  with  all  the  wistful  vicissi- 


42  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

tudes  of  a  baffled  expectation,  to  resume  his  bishop- 
ric and  his  life  as  best  he  could.  It  is  a  pathetic 
ending  to  a  noble  and  glorious  day. 

Many  years  after  this  Orso  still  held  his  patri- 
archate in  peace  and  honor,  and  the  name  of  the 
younger  brother,  Vitale,  his  successor  at  Torcello, 
appears  as  a  member  along  with  him  of  an  ecclesi- 
astical council  for  the  reform  of  discipline  and  doc- 
trine in  the  Church;  while  their  sister  Felicia  is 
mentioned  as  abbess  of  one  of  the  convents  at  Tor- 
cello.  But  the  day  of  the  Orseoli  was  over.  A 
member  of  the  family,  Domenico,  '*a  near  rela- 
tion," made  an  audacious  attempt  in  the  agitation 
that  followed  the  withdrawal  of  Orso  to  seize  the 
supreme  power,  and  was  favored  by  many,  the 
chroniclers  say.  But  his  attem.pt  was  unsuccessful, 
and  his  usurpation  lasted  only  a  day.  The  leader 
of  the  opposing  party,  Flabenico,  was  elected  doge 
in  the  reaction,  which  doubtless  this  foolish  effort 
of  ambition  stimulated  greatly.  And  perhaps  it 
was  this  reason  also  which  moved  the  people,  star- 
tled into  a  new  scare  by  their  favorite  bugbear  of 
dynastic  succession,  to  consent  to  the  cruel  and  most 
ungrateful  condemnation  of  the  Orseoli  family  which 
followed;  and  by  which  the  race  was  sentenced  to 
be  denuded  of  all  rights,  and  pronounced  incapable 
henceforward  of  holding  any  office  under  the  re- 
public. The  prohibition  would  seem  to  have  been 
of  little  practical  importance,  since  of  the  children 
of  Pietro  Orseolo  the  Great  there  remained  none  ex- 
cept priests  and  nuns,  whose  indignation,  when  the 
news  reached  them,  must  have  been  as  great  as  it 
was  impotent.  We  may  imagine  with  what  swell- 
ing hearts  they  must  have  met,  in  the  shadow  ot 
that  great  sanctuary  which  they  had  built,  the  two 
bishops,  one  of  whom  had  been  doge  in  Venice,  and 
the  abbess  in  her  convent,  with  perhaps  a  humbler 
nun  or  two  of  the  same  blood  behind,  separated  only 
by  the  still  levels  of  the  lagoon,  from  where  the 
towers  and  spires  of  Venice  rose  from  the  bosom  of 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  43 

the  waters — Venice,  their  birthplace,  the  home  of 
their  glory,  from  which  their  race  was  now  shut 
out.  If  any  curse  of  Rome  trembled  from  their 
lips,  if  any  appeal  for  anathema  and  excommunica- 
tion, who  could  have  wondered?  But,  like  other 
wrongs,  that  great  popular  ingratitude  faded  away, 
and  the  burning  of  the  hearts  of  the  injured  found 
no  expression.  The  three  consecrated  members  of 
the  doomed  family,  perhaps  sad  enough  once  at  the 
failure  of  the  succession,  must  have  found  a  certain 
bitter  satisfaction  then,  in  the  thought  that  their 
Otto,  deposed  and  dead,  had  left  no  child  behind 
him. 

But  the  voice  of  history  has  taken  up  the  cause  of 
this  ill-rewarded  race.  The  chroniclers  with  one 
voice  proclaim  the  honor  of  the  Orseoli,  with  a 
visionary  partisanship  in  which  the  present  writer 
cannot  but  share,  though  eight  centuries  have  come 
and  gone  since  Venice  abjured  the  family  which 
had  served  her  so  well.  Sabellico  tells,  with  indig- 
nant satisfaction,  that  he  can  find  nothing  to  record 
that  is  worthy  the  trouble,  of  Flabenico,  their 
enemy,  except  that  he  grew  old  and  died.  Non 
ragioiiain  dt  lor.  The  insignificant  and  envious  rival, 
who  brings  ruin  to  the  last  survivors  of  a  great  race, 
is  unworthy  further  comment. 

Such  proscriptions,  however,  are  rarely  so  success- 
ful. The  Orseoli  disappear  altogether  from  history, 
and  their  name  during  all  the  historic  ages  scarcely 
once  is  heard  again  in  Venice.  Domenico,  the 
audacious  usurper  of  a  day,  died  at  Ravenna  very 
shortly  after.  Even  their  great  buildings,  with  the 
exception  of  Torcello,  have  disappeared  under  the 
splendor  of  later  ornament  or  more  recent  construc- 
tion. Their  story  has  the  completeness  of  an  epic 
— they  lived,  and  ruled,  and  conquered,  and  made 
Venice  great.  Under  their  sway  she  became  the 
mistress  of  the  sea.  And  then  it  was  evident  that 
they  had  completed  their  mission,  and  the  race  came 
to  an  end;   receiving  its  dismissal  in  the  course  of 


44  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

nature  from  those  whom  it  had  best  served.  Few 
families  thus  recognize  the  logic  of  circumstances; 
they  linger  out  in  paltry  efforts — in  attempts  to  re- 
verse the  sentence  pronounced  by  the  ingratitude  of 
the  fickle  mob,  or  any  other  tyrant  with  whom  they 
may  have  to  do.  But  whether  with  their  own  will 
or  against  it,  the  Orseoli  made  no  struggle.  They 
allowed  their  story  to  be  completed  in  one  chapter 
and  to  come  to  a  picturesque  and  effective  end. 

It  will  be  recognized,  however,  that  Torcello  is  a 
powerful  exception  to  the  extinction  of  all  relics  of 
the  race.  The  traveler  as  he  stands  with  some- 
thing of  the  sad  respect  of  pity  mingling  in  his 
admiration  of  that  great  and  noble  cathedral,  built 
for  the  use  of  a  populous  and  powerful  community, 
but  now  left  to  a  few  rough  fishermen  and  pallid 
women,  amid  the  low  and  marshy  fields,  a  poor 
standing  ground  among  the  floods,  takes  little 
thought  of  him  who  reared  its  lofty  walls,  and  com- 
bined new  and  old  together  in  so  marvelous  a  con- 
junction. Even  the  greatest  of  all  the  modern 
adorers  who  have  idealized  old  Venice,  and  sung 
litanies  to  some  chosen  figures  among  her  sons,  has 
not  a  word  for  Orso  or  his  race.  And  no  tradition 
remains  to  celebrate  his  name.  But  the  story  of 
this  tender  brother,  the  banished  doge's  defender, 
champion,  substitute,  and  mourner  —  he  who 
reigned  for  Otto,  and  for  himself  neither  sought 
nor  accepted  anything — is  worthy  of  the  scene. 
Greatness  has  faded  from  the  ancient  commune  as 
it  faded  from  the  family  of  their  bishop;  and  Tor- 
cello,  like  the  Orseoli,  may  seem  to  a  fantastic  eye 
to  look,  through  all  the  round  of  endless  days,  wist- 
fully yet  with  no  grudge,  across  the  level  waste  of 
the  salt  sea  water  to  that  great  line  of  Venice 
against  the  western  sky  which  has  carried  her  life 
away.  The  church,  with  its  marbles  and  forgotten 
inscriptions,  its  mournful,  great  Madonna  holding 
out  her  arms  to  all  her  children;  its  profound  lone- 
liness   and    sentinelship  through  all  the  ages,  ac- 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  45 

quires  yet  another  not  uncongenial  association 
when  we  think  of  the  noble  and  unfortunate  race 
which  here  died  out  in  the  silence  of  the  cloister, 
amid  murmurs  of  solemn  psalms,  and  whispering 
Amens  from  the  winds  and  from  the  sea. 


CHAPTER  ir. 


THE    MICHIELI. 


It  is  of  course  impossible  to  give  here  a  contin- 
uous history  of  the  doges.  To  trace  the  first 
appearance  of  one  after  another  of  the  historic 
names  so  familiar  to  our  ears  would  be  a  task  full 
of  interest,  but  far  too  extensive  for  the  present 
undertaking.  All  that  we  can  attempt  to  do  is  to 
take  up  a  prominent  figure  here  and  there,  to  mark 
the  successive  crises  and  developments  of  history 
and  the  growth  of  the  Venetian  constitution,  in- 
volved as  it  is  in  the  action  and  influence  of  success- 
ive princes,  or  to  follow  the  fortunes  of  one  or 
other  of  the  famliy  groups  which  add  an  individual 
interest  to  the  general  story.  Among  these,  less 
for  the  importance  of  the  house  than  for  the  great- 
ness of  one  of  its  members,  the  Michieli  find  a 
prominent  place.  The  first  doge  of  the  name  was 
the  grandfather,  the  third  the  son,  of  the  great 
Domenico  Michieli,  who  made  the  name  illustrious. 
Vitale  Michiel  the  first  (the  concluding  vowel  is  cut 
off,  according  to  familiar  use  in  many  Venetian 
names — Cornaro  being  pronounced  Corna;  Lore- 
dano,  Loredan ;  and  so  forth)  came  to  the  dignity  of 
doge  in  1096,  more  than  a  century  later  than  the 
accession  of  the  Orseoli  to  power.  In  the  meantime 
there  had  been  much  progress  in  Venice.  We 
reach  the  limits  within  which  general  history 
begins  to  become  clear.  Every  day  the  great 
republic,  though  still  in  infancy,  emerges  more  and 
more  distinct  from  the  morning  mists.      And  the 


46  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

accession  of  Vitale  Michieli  brings  us  abreast  of  in- 
formation from  other  sources.  He  came  to  the 
chief  magistracy  at  the  time  when  all  Europe  was 
thrilling  with  the  excitement  of  the  first  Crusade, 
and  the  great  maritime  towns  of  Italy  began  to  vie 
with  each  other  in  offering  the  means  of  transit  to 
the  pilgrims.  How  it  happens  that  the  Venetian 
chroniclers  have  left  this  part  of  their  history  in 
darkness,  and  gathered  so  few  details  of  a  period  so 
important,  is  the  standing  wonder  of  historical 
students.  But  so  it  is.  A  wave  of  new  life  must 
have  swept  through  the  city,  with  all  its  wealth  ot 
galleys,  which  lay  so  directly  in  the  way  between 
the  east  and  west,  and  trade  must  have  quickened 
and  prosperity  increased.  All  that  we  hear,  how- 
ever, from  Venetian  sources  is  vague  and  general; 
and  it  was  not  until  after  the  taking  of  Jerusalem 
that  the  doge  felt  himself  impelled  to  join  "that 
hol}^  and  praiseworthy  undertaking;"  and  assem- 
bling the  people,  proposed  to  them  the  formation 
of  an  armada,  not  only  for  the  primary  object  of  the 
Crusade,  but  in  order  that  Venice  might  not  show 
herself  backward  where  the  Pisans  and  Genoese 
had  both  acquired  reputation  and  wealth. 

The  expedition  thus  fitted  out  was  commanded 
by  his  son  Giovanni,  with  the  aid  of  a  spiritual 
coadjutor  in  the  person  of  Enrico  Contarini,  Bishop 
of  Castello;  but  does  not  seem  to  have  accomplished 
much  except  in  the  search  for  relics,  which  were 
then  the  great  object  of  Venetian  ambition.  A 
curious  story  is  told  of  this  expedition  and  of  the 
bishop-commodore,  who,  performing  his  devotions 
before  his  departure  at  the  church  on  the  Lido, 
dedicated  the  San  Niccolo,  made  it  the  special 
object  of  his  prayers  that  he  might  find,  when  on 
his  travels,  the  body  of  the  saint.  Whether  the 
determination  to  have  this  prayer  granted  operated 
in  other  methods  more  practical  cannot  be  told;  but 
certain  it  is  that  Bishop  Contarini  one  fine  morning 
suddenly  called  upon  the  fleet  to  stop  in  front  of  a 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  47 

little  town  which  was  visible  on  the  top  of  the  cliffs 
near  the  city  of  Mira.  The  squadron  paused  in 
full  career,  no  doubt  with  many  an  inquiry  from 
the  gazing-  crowds  in  the  other  vessels  not  near 
enough  to  see  what  the  admiral  would  be  at,  or 
what  was  the  meaning  of  the  sudden  landing  of  a 
little  band  of  explorers  on  the  peaceful  coast.  The 
little  town,  una  citta  a  place  without  a  name,  was 
found  almost  abandoned  of  its  inhabitants,  having 
been  ravaged  by  some  recent  corsair,  Turk  or 
Croat.  The  explorers,  joined  by  many  a  boat's 
crew  as  soon  as  the  other  vessels  saw  that  some 
adventure  was  on  hand,  found  a  church  dedicated 
also  to  San  Niccolo,  which  they  immediately  began 
to  examine,  not  too  gently,  pulling  down  walls  and 
altars  to  find  the  sacred  booty  of  which  they  were 
in  search, and  even  putting  to  torture  the  guardians 
of  the  church  who  would  not  betray  its  secrets. 
Finding  nothing  better  to  be  done,  they  took  at  last 
two  bodies  of  saints  of  lesser  importance,  St.  Theo- 
dore to  wit,  and  a  second  San  Niccolo,  uncle  of  the 
greater  saint — and  prepared,  though  with  little 
satisfaction,  to  regain  their  ships.  The  bishop, 
however,  lingered,  praying  and  weeping  behind, 
with  no  compunction  apparently  as  to  the  tortured 
guardians  of  St.  Nicholas,  but  much  dislike  to  be 
balked  in  his  own  ardent  desire;  when  lo!  all  at  once 
there  arose  a  fragrance  as  of  all  the  flowers  of  June, 
and  the  pilgrims,  hastily  crowding  back  to  see  what 
wonderful  thing  was  about  to  take  place,  found 
themselves  drawn  toward  a  certain  altar,  apparently 
overlooked  before,  where  St.  Nicholas  really  lay. 
One  wonders  whether  the  saint  was  flattered  by  the 
violence  of  his  abductors,  as  women  are  said  to  be 
—yet  cannot  but  feel  that  it  was  hard  upon  the 
poor  tortured  custodians,  the  old  and  faithful  serv- 
ants who  would  not  betray  their  trust,  to  see  the 
object  of  their  devotion  thus  favor  the  invaders. 
This  story  Romanin  assures  us  is  told  by  a  con- 
temporary.     Dandolo  gives  another  very  similar 


48  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

adding  that  his  own  ancestor,  a  Dandolo,  was  cap- 
tain of  the  ship  which  carried  back  the  prize. 

This  would  seem  to  have  been  the  chief  glory, 
though  but  at  second  hand,  of  Vitale  Michieli's 
reign.  The  due  corpi  dt  San  Niccolo^  the  great  and 
small,  were  placed  with  great  joy  in  San  Niccolo 
del  Lido,  and  that  of  St.  Theodore  deposited  in  the 
Church  of  San  Salvatore.  The  brief  account  of  the 
Crusade  given  by  Sanudo  reveals  to  us  a  hungry 
search  for  relics  on  the  part  of  the  Venetian  con- 
tingent, varied  by  quarrels,  which  speedily  came  to 
blows,  with  the  Pisans  and  Genoese,  their  rivals  at 
sea,  but  little  more.  Nor  is  it  apparent  that  the 
life  of  the  Doge  Vitale  was  more  distinguished  at 
home.  He  died,  after  a  reign  of  about  five  years, 
in  the  end  of  the  first  year  of  the  twelfth  century, 
and  for  a  generation  we  hear  of  the  family  no  more. 

His  successor,  Ordelafo,  first  of  the  Falieri,  was  a 
man  of  great  energy  and  character.  He  was  the 
founder  of  the  great  arsenal,  which  has  always 
been  of  so  much  importance  to  Venice,  not  less 
now  with  its  great  miraculous  scientific  prodigies 
of  ironclads,  and  its  hosts  of  workmen,  than  when 
the  pitch  boiled  and  the  hammers  rang  for  smaller 
craft  on  more  primitive  designs.  Ordolafo  how- 
ever, came  to  a  violent  end  fighting  for  the  posses- 
sion of  the  continually  rebellious  city  of  Zara,  which 
from  generation  to  generation  gave  untold  trouble 
to  its  conquerors.  His  fall  carried  dismay  and  de- 
feat to  the  very  hearts  of  his  followers.  The 
Venetians  were  not  accustomed  to  disaster,  and 
they  were  completely  cowed  and  broken  down  by 
the  loss  at  once  of  their  leader  and  of  the  battle. 
For  a  time  it  seems  to  have  been  felt  that  the  re- 
public had  lost  her  hold  upon  Dalmatia,  and  that 
the  empire  of  the  seas  was  in  danger;  and  the  dis- 
mayed leaders  came  home,  bringing  grief  and 
despondency  with  them.  The  city  was  so  cast  down 
that  ambassadors  were  sent  off  to  the  King  of  Hun- 
gary to  sue  for  a  truce  of  five  years,  and  mourning 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  49 

and  alarm  filled  all  hearts.  It  was  at  this  time  of 
discomfiture  and  humiliation,  in  the  year  iii8,  that 
Domenico  Michieli,  the  second  of  his  name  to  bear 
that  honor,  was  elected  doge.  In  these  dismal  cir- 
cumstances there  seems  little  augury  of  the 
splendor  and  success  he  was  to  bring  to  Venice. 
His  first  authentic  appearance  shows  him  to  us  in 
the  act  of  preparing  another  expedition  for  the 
East,  for  the  succor  of  Baldwin,  the  second  King  of 
Jerusalem,  who,  the  first  flush  of  success  being  by 
this  time  over,  had  in  his  straits  appealed  to  the 
Pope  and  to  the  republic.  The  Pope  sent  on  Bald- 
win's letters  to  Venice,  and  with  them  a  standard 
bearing  the  image  of  St'.  Peter,  to  be  carried  by  the 
doge  to  battle.  Michieli  immediately  prepared  a 
posseiite  armata — a  strong  expedition.  "Then  the 
people  were  called  to  counsel,"  the  narrative  goes 
on,  without  any  ironical  meaning;  and,  after  solemn 
service  in  St.  Mark's,  the  prince  addressed  the 
assembly.  The  primitive  constitution  of  the  repub- 
lic, in  which  every  man  felt  himself  the  arbiter  of 
his  country's  tate,  could  not  be  better  exemplified. 
The  matter  was  already  decided,  and  all  that  was 
needful  to  carry  out  the  undertaking  was  that  pop- 
ular movement  of  sympathy  which  a  skilled  orator 
has  so  little  difficulty  in  calling  forth.  The  people 
pressed  into  the  church,  where,  with  all  the  solem- 
nity of  a  ritual  against  which  no  heretical  voice  had 
ever  been  raised,  the  patriarch  and  his  clergy,  in 
pomp  and  splendor,  celebrated,  at  the  great  altar 
blazing  with  light,  the  sacred  ceremonies.  San 
Marco,  in  its  dark  splendor,  with  that  subtle  charm 
of  color  which  makes  it  unique  among  churches, 
was  probably  then  more  like  what  it  is  now  than 
was  any  other  part  of  Venice — especially  when 
filled  with  that  surging  sea  of  eager  faces  all  turned 
toward  the  brilliant  glow  of  the  altar.  And  those 
who  have  seen  the  great  Venetian  temple  of  to-day, 
full  of  the  swaying  movement  and  breath  of  a 
crowd,  may  be  permitted  to  form  for  themselves  an 

4  Venice 


50  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

image,  probably  very  like  the  original,  of  that 
assembly,  where  pajricians,  townsmen,  artisans — 
the  mariners  who  would  be  the  first  to  bear  their 
part,  and  those  sons  of  the  people  who  are  the  nat- 
ural recruits  of  every  army,  all  met  together  eager 
for  news,  ready  to  be  moved  by  the  eloquence,  and 
wrought  to  enthusiasm  by  the  sentiment  of  their 
doge.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  the  speech  of 
Michieli,  given  by  Sabellico  in  detail,  is  the  actual 
oration  of  the  doge,  verbally  reported  in  the  first 
half  of  the  twelfth  century;  but  it  has,  no  doubt, 
some  actual  truth  of  language;  handed  down  by 
fragments  of  tradition  and  a-nonymous  chronicle, 
and  it  is  very  characteristic,  and  worthy  ot  the 
occasion.  "From  you,  noble  Venetians,  these  things 
are  not  hid,"  he  says,  *' which  were  done  partlv  by 
yourselves,  and  partly  by  the  other  peoplos  of 
Europe,  to  recover  the  Holy  Land."  Then,  after  a 
brief  review  of  the  circumstances,  of  the  great 
necessity  and  the  appeal  made  to  Rome,  he  ad- 
resses  himself  thus  to  the  popular  ear: 

"Moved  by  so  great  a  peril,  the  Roman  pontiff  has  judged 
the  Venetians  alone  worthy  of  such  an  undertaking,  and  that 
he  might  securely  confide  it  to  them.  Wherefore  he  has  sent 
commissions  to  your  prince,  and  to  you,  Venetian  citizens, 
praying  and  supplicating  you  that  in  such  a  time  of  need  you 
should  not  desert  the  Christian  cause.  Which  demand  your 
prince  has  determined  to  refer  to  you.  Make  up  your  minds 
then,  and  command  that  a  strong  force  should  be  prepared. 
Which  thing  not  only  religion  and  our  care  for  the  Church  and 
all  Christians  enjoin,  but  also  the  inheritance  of  our  fathers, 
from  whom  we  have  received  it  as  a  charge ;  which  fulfilling, 
we  can  also  enlarge  our  own  dominion.  It  is  very  worthy  of 
the  religion  of  which  we  make  profession,  to  defend  with  our 
arms  from  the  injuries  of  cruel  men  that  country  in  which 
Christ  our  Kmg  chose  to  be  born,  to  traverse  weeping,  in 
which  to  be  betrayed,  taken,  put  upon  the  Cross,  and  that 
His  most  holy  body  shoud  have  sepulture  therein ;  in  which 
place  as  testifies  Holy  Writ,  as  the  great  Judge  yet  once  more 
He  must  come  to  judge  the  human  race.  What  sacred  place 
dedicated  to  His  service,  what  monastery,  what  altar,  can  we 
imagine  will  be  so  grateful  to  Him  as  this  holy  undertaking? 
by  which  He  will  see  the  home  of  His  childhood.  His  grave, 
and,  finally,  all  the  surroundings  of  His  humanity,  made  free 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  51 

from  unworthy  bondage.  But  since  human  nature  is  so  con- 
stituted that  there  is  scarcely  any  public  piety  without  a 
mixture  of  ambition,  you,  perhaps,  while  I  speak,  begin  to 
ask  yourselves  silently, what  honor,  what  glory,  what  reward 
may  follow  such  an  enterprise?  Great  and  notable  will  be  the 
glory  to  the  Venetian  name,  since  our  forces  will  appear  to  all 
Europe  alone  sufiacient  to  be  opposed  to  the  strength  of  Asia. 
The  furthermost  parts  of  the  West  will  hear  of  the  valor  of  the 
Venetians,  Africa  will  talk  of  it,  Europe  will  wonder  at  it, 
and  our  name  will  be  great  and  honored  in  everybody's  mouth. 
Yours  will  be  the  victory  in  such  a  war,  and  yours  will  be 
the  glory.     .     .     . 

"Besides,  I  doubt  not  that  you  are  all  of  one  will  in  the 
desire  that  our  domain  should  grow  and  increase.  In  what 
way,  and  by  what  method,  think  you,  is  this  to  be  done? 
Perhaps  here  seated,  or  in  our  boats  upon  ""^e  lagoons?  Those 
who  think  so  deceive  themselves.  The  old  Romans,  of  whom 
it  is  your  glory  to  be  thought  the  descendants,  and  whom  you 
desire  to  emulate,  did  not  gain  the  empire  of  the  world  by 
cowardice  or  idleness;  but  adding  one  undertaking  to  another, 
and  war  to  war  put  their  yoke  u  pon  all  people,  and  with  in- 
credible fighting  increased  their  strength.  .  .  .  And  yet 
again,  if  neither  the  glory,  nor  the  rewards,  nor  the  ancient 
and  general  devotion  of  our  city  for  the  Christian  name  should 
move  you,  this  certainly  will  move  you,  that  we  are  bound  to 
deliver  from  the  oppression  of  the  unbeliever  that  land  in 
which  we  shall  stand  at  last  before  the  tribunal  of  the  great 
Judge,  and  where  what  we  have  done  shall  not  be  hidden,  but 
made  manifest  and  clear.  Go,  then,  and  prepare  the  arma- 
ments, and  may  it  be  well  with  you  and  with  the  Venetian 
name." 

This  skillful  mingling  of  motives,  sacred  and  sec- 
ular; the  melting  touch  with  which  that  land  which 
was  "the  place  of  His  childhood' — il  luogo  della  sua 
fanciidlezza — is  presented  to  their  sight;  the  desire 
for  glory,  which  is  so  sweet  to  all ;  the  great  civic 
ambition  to  make  Venice  great  and  hear  her  praise ; 
the  keen  sting  of  the  taunt  to  those  who  suppose  that 
fame  is  to  be  got  by  sitting  still  or  by  idle  exercise 
upon  the  surrounding  waters — returning  again  with 
the  force  of  a  final  argument  to  ''that  land"  where 
the  final  judgment  is  to  be  held,  and  where  those 
who  have  fought  for  the  Cross  will  not  be  hidden, 
great  or  small — forms  an  admirable  example  of  the 
kind  of  oration    which    an    eloquent    doge  might 


52  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

deliver  to  the  impetuous  and  easily  moved  popu- 
lace, who  had,  after  all,  a  terrible  dominant  power 
of  veto  if  they  chanced  to  take  another  turn-  from 
that  which  was  desired.  The  speaker,  however,  who 
had  this  theme,  andknewso  well  how  to  set  it  forth, 
must  have  felt  that  he  had  the  heart  of  the  people 
in  his  hand  and  could  play  upon  that  great  instrue 
ment  as  upon  a  lute.  When  he  had  ended,  tho 
church  resounded  with  shouts,  mingled  with  weep- 
ing, and  there  was  not  one  in  the  city,  we  are  told, 
who  would  not  rather  have  been  written  down  in 
the  lists  of  that  army  than  left  to  stay  in  peace  and 
idleness  at  home. 

Dandolo,  the  most  authentic  and  trustworthy 
authority,  describes  this  expedition  as  one  of  two 
hundred  ships,  large  and  small,  but  other  author- 
ities reckon  them  as  less  numerous.  They  shone 
with  pictures  and  various  colors,  the  French 
historian  of  the  Crusades  informs  us,  and  were  a 
delightful  sight  as  they  made  their  way  across  the 
brilliant  eastern  sea.  Whether  the  painted  sails 
that  still  linger  about  the  lagoons  and  give  so  much 
brilliance  and  character  to  the  scene  were  already 
adopted  by  these  glorious  galleys  seems  unknow:n; 
their  high  prows,  however,  were  richly  decorated 
with  gilding  and  color,  and  it  is  apparently  this 
ornamentation  to  which  the  historian  alludes.  But 
though  they  were  beautiful  to  behold,  their  prog- 
ress was  not  rapid.  The  doge  stopped  on  his  way 
to  besiege  and  take  Corfu,  where  the  squadron 
passed  the  winter,  as  was  the  custom  of  the  time. 
Even  when  they  set  sail  again  they  lingered  among 
the  islands,  carrying  fire  and  sword  for  no  partic- 
ular reason,  so  far  as  appears,  into  Rhodes  and 
other  places;  until  at  last  evil  news  from  Palestine, 
and  the  information  that  the  enemy's  fleet  lay  in 
front  of  Joppa,  blockading  that  port,  quickened  their 
steps.  Michieli  divided  his  squadron,  and  beguiled 
the  hostile  ships  out  to  sea  wnth  the  hopes  of  an 
easy  triumph;  then,    falling   upon    them  with  the 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  53 

Stronger  portion  of  his  force,  won  so  terrible  and 
complete  a  victory  that  the  water  and  the  air  were 
tainted  with  blood,  and  many  of  the  Venetians, 
according  to  Sanndo,  fell  sick  in  consequence. 

It  is  difficult  to  decide  whether  it  was  after  this 
first  incident  of  the  war,  or  at  a  later  period,  that 
the  doge  found  himself,  like  so  many  generals 
before  and  after  him,  in  want  of  money  for  the 
payment  of  his  men.  The  idea  of  banknotes  had 
not  then  occurred  even  to  the  merchant  princes. 
But  Michieli  did  what  our  own  valiant  Gordon  had 
to  do,  and  with  as  great  a  strain,  no  doubt,  on  the 
faith  of  the  mediaeval  mariners  to  whom  the  device 
was  entirely  new.  He  caused  a  coinage  to  be  struck 
in  leather,  stamped  with  his  own  family  arms,  and 
had  it  published  throughout  the  fleet,  upon  his  per- 
sonal warrant,  that  these  should  be  considered  as 
lawful  money,  and  should  be  exchanged  for  gold 
zecchins  on  the  return  of  the  ships  to  Venice. 
'*And  so  it  was  done,  and  the  promise  was  kept." 
In  memory  of  this  first  asstgnat  the  Ca'  Michieli, 
still  happily  existing  in  Venice,  bears  till  this  day, 
and  has  borne  through  all  the  intervening  centuries, 
the  symbol  of  these  leathern  coins  upon  the  cheer- 
ful blue  and  white  of  their  ancestral  coat. 

On  the  arrival  of  the  Venetians  at  Acre  they 
found  the  assembled  Christians  full  of  uncertain 
counsels,  as  was  unfortunately  too  common ;  doubt- 
ful even  with  which  city,  Tyre  or  Ascalon,  they 
should  begin  their  operations.  The  doge  proposed 
an  appeal  to  God  under  the  shape  of  drawing  lots, 
always  a  favorite  idea  with  the  Venetians,  and  the 
two  names  were  written  on  pieces  of  paper,  and 
placed  in  the  pyx  on  the  altar,  from  which  one  was 
drawn  by  a  child,  after  Mass  had  been  said.  On 
this  appeared  the  name  of  Tyre,  and  the  question 
was  decided.  Before,  however,  the  expedition  set 
out  again,  the  prudent  Venetian,  well  aware  that 
gratitude  is  less  to  be  calculated  upon  after  than 
before  the  benefit  is  received,  made  his  conditions 


64  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

with  "the  Barons"  who  represented  the  imprisoned 
King  Baldwin.  These  conditions  were  that  in 
every  city  of  the  Christian  kingdom  the  Venetians 
should  have  secured  to  them  a  church,  a  street,  an 
open  square,  a  bath,  and  a  bakehouse,  to  be  held 
free  from  taxes  as  if  they  were  the  property  of  the 
king;  that  they  should  be  free  from  all  tolls  on 
entering  or  leaving  these  cities — as  free  as  if  in  their 
own  dominion — unless  when  conveying  freight,  in 
which  case  they  were  to  pay  the  ordinary  dues. 
Further,  the  authorities  of  Baldwin's  kingdom 
pledged  themselves  to  pay  to  the  doge  in  every 
recurring  year,  on  the  feast  of  SS.  Peter  and  Paul, 
three  hundred  bezants;  and  consented  that  all  legal 
differences  between  Venetian  residents  or  visitors 
should  be  settled  by  their  own  courts,  and  that,  in 
cases  of  shipwreck  or  death  at  sea,  the  property  of 
dead  Venetians  should  be  carefully  preserved  and 
conveyed  to  Venice  for  distribution  to  the  lawful 
heirs.  Finally,  the  third  parts  of  the  cities  of  Tyre 
and  Ascalon,  if  conquered  by  the  help  of  the  Vene- 
tians— in  so  far  at  least  as  these  conquered  places 
belonged  to  the  Saracens  and  not  to  the  Franks — 
were  to  be  given  to  the  Venetians,  to  be  held  by 
them  as  freely  as  the  king  held  the  rest.  These  con- 
ditions are  taken  from  the  confirmatory  charter 
afterward  granted  by  Baldwin.  The  reader  will  per- 
ceive that  the  doge  drove  an  excellent  bargain,  and 
did  not,  though  so  great  and  good  a  man,  disdain  to 
exact  the  best  terms  possible  from  his  friends' 
necessities. 

These  important  preliminaries  settled,  the  expe- 
dition set  out  for  Tyre,  which,  being  very  strong, 
was  assailed  at  once  by  land  and  by  sea.  The  siege 
had  continued  for  some  time  without  any  important 
result,  and  the  Crusaders  were  greatly  discouraged 
by  rumors  of  an  attack  that  was  being  planned 
against  Jerusalem,  when  it  began  to  be  whispered 
in  the  host  that  the  Venetians,  who  were  so  handy 
with  their  galleys,  would,  in  case  of  the  arrival  of 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  55 

the  army  of  the  King  of  Damascus,  who  was  known 
to  be  on  his  way  to  the  relief  of  the  city,  think  only 
of  their  own  safety,  and  getting  up  all  sail  abandon 
their  allies  and  make  off  to  sea.  This  suggestion 
made  a  great  commotion  in  the  camp,  where  the 
knowledge  that  a  portion  of  the  force  had  escaped 
within  their  power  made  danger  doubly  bitter  to 
the  others  who  had  no  such  possibility.  The  doge 
heard  the  rumor,  which  filled  him  with  trouble  and 
indignation.  Dandolo  says  that  he  took  a  plank 
from  each  of  the  galleys  to  make  them  unseaworthy. 
"Others  write,"  says  Sabellico,  "that  the  sails,  oars, 
and  other  things  needed  for  navigation  were  what 
Michieli  removed  from  his  ships."  These  articles 
were  carried  into  the  presence  of  Varimondo  or 
Guarimondo,  the  patriarch,  and  all  the  assembly  of 
the  leaders.  The  astonishment  of  the  council  of 
war,  half  composed  of  priests,  when  these  cumbrous 
articles,  smelling  of  pitch  and  salt  water,  were 
thrown  down  before  them,  may  be  imagined.  The 
doge  made  them  an  indignant  speech,  asking  how 
they  could  have  supposed  the  Venetians  to  be  so 
light  of  faith ;  and,  with  a  touch  of  ironical  con- 
tempt, inform^ed  them  that  he  took  this  means  to  set 
them  at  their  ease,  and  show  that  the  men  of 
Venice  meant  to  take  Tyre,  and  not  to  run  away. 

Another  picturesque  incident  recorded  is  one 
which  Sabellico  allows  may  be  fabulous,  but  which 
Sanudo  repeats  from  two  different  sources — the 
story  of  a  carrier  pigeon  sent  by  the  relieving  army 
to  encourage  the  people  of  Tyre  in  their  manful 
resistance,  which  the  Christian  army  caught,  and 
to  which  they  attached  a  message  of  quite  opposite 
purport,  upon  the  receipt  of  which  the  much  tried 
and  famished  garrison  lost  heart,  and  at  length, 
though  with  all  the  honors  of  war,  capitulated,  and 
threw  open  their  gates;  upon  which  the  besiegers 
took  possession,  not  without  much  grumbling  on  the 
part  of  the  disappointed  soldiers,  who  looked  for 
nothing  less  than  the  sacking  of  the  wealthy  city. 


5^  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

The  royal  standard  of  Jerusalem  was  immediately 
erected  on  the  highest  tower,  those  of  St.  Mark  and 
of  the  Count  of  Tripoli  waving  beside  it.  The 
siege  lasted,  according  to  Dandolo,  nearly  four 
months.  The  doge  had  spent  Christmas  solemnly 
at  Jerusalem,  and  it  was  in  July  that  the  city  was 
entered  by  the  allies:  but  all  the  authorities  are 
chary  of  dates,  and  even  Romanin  is  not  too  clear 
on  this  point.  It  was,  however,  in  July,  1123,  that 
the  victory  was  gained. 

In  the  portion  of  the  city  which  fell  to  the  share 
of  the  Venetians,  true  to  their  instincts,  a  scheme 
of  government  was  at  once  set  up.  The  doge  put 
in  a  balio  cht  facesse  ragioiie — a  deputy  who  should 
do  right — seek  good  and  ensure  it.  Mr.  Ruskin,  in 
his  eloquent  account  of  this  great  enterprise  (which 
it  would  be  great  temerity  on  our  part  to  attempt 
to  repeat,  were  it  not  necessary  to  the  story  of  the 
doges),  quotes  the  oath  taken  by  inferior  magis- 
trates under  the  balio^  which  is  a  stringent  promise 
to  act  justly  by  all  men  and  "according  to  the 
ancient  use  and  law  of  the  city. "  The  Venetians 
took  possession  at  once  of  their  third  of  the  newly 
acquired  town,  with  all  the  privileges  accorded  to 
them,  and  set  up  their  bakeries,  their  exclusive 
weights  and  measures,  their  laws,  their  churches, 
of  which  three  were  built  without  delay,  and  along 
with  all  these,  secured  an  extension  of  trade,  which 
was  the  highest  benefit  of  all. 

It  was  asserted  by  an  anonj^mous  commentator 
upon  the  manuscript  of  Dandolo,  that  it  was  pro- 
posed by  the  Crusaders,  after  this  great  success  of 
their  arms,  to  elect  the  doge  King  of  Jerusalem  in 
place  of  the  imprisoned  Baldwin:  but  of  this  there 
seems  no  confirmation.  Michieli  was  called  from 
the  scene  of  his  victories  by  information  of  renewed 
troubles  on  the  Dalmatian  coast,  and  departed, 
carrying  along  with  him  many  of  the  fine  things 
for  which  Tyre  was  famous — the  purple  and  the 
goldsmith's  work,  and  many  treasures — but  among 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  67 

others,  one  on  which  Dandolo  and  Sanudo  both 
agree,  a  certain  great  stone  which  had  stood  near 
one  of  the  gates  of  Tyre  since  the  time  when  our 
Lord,  weary  after  a  journey,  sat  down  to  rest  upon 
it.  Such  a  treasure  was  not  likely  to  escape  the 
keen  scent  of  the  Venetians,  so  eager  for  relics. 
The  doge  carried  it  away,  a  somewhat  cumbrous 
addition  to  his  plunder,  and  when  he  reached  home 
placed  it  in  San  Marco,  where  it  is  still  to  be  seen 
in  the  Baptistry,  a  chapel  not  built  in  Michieli's 
day,  where  it  forms  the  altar,  un  enorme  mossetto 
de granito — as  says  the  last  guidebook.  The  guide- 
book, however  (the  excellent  one  published  by 
Signori  Falin  and  Molmenti,  from  the  notes  of 
Lazari,  and  worth  a  dozen  Murray s),  says  that  it 
wasVitale  Michieli,  and  not  Domenico  who  brought 
over  this  stone  from  Tyre:  just  as  Mr.  Ruskin 
assures  us  that  it  was  Domenico  who  brought  home 
the  two  famous  columns  on  the  Piazzetta,  of  which 
the  chroniclers  do  not  say  a  word.  Who  is  to  decide 
when  doctors  disagree? 

The  homeward  journey  of  the  Venetians  was  full 
of  adventure  and  conflict.  Their  first  pause  was 
made  at  Rhodes,  where  the  inhabitants,  possibly 
encouraged  by  the  Greek  emperor  in  their  insolence 
to  the  Venetians,  refused  to  furnish  them  with 
provisions:  whereupon  the  doge  disembarked  his 
army,  and  took  and  sacked  the  city.  After  this 
swift  and  summary  vengeance  the  fleet  went  on  to 
Chios,  which  was  not  only  treated  as  Rhodes  had 
been,  but  was  robbed  ot  a  valuable  piece  of  saintly 
plunder,  the  body  of  St.  Isadore.  The  other  isles 
of  the  Archipelago  fell  in  succession  before  the 
victorious  fleet,  which  passed  with  a  swelling  sail 
and  all  the  exhilaration  of  success  from  one  to 
another.  At  Cephalonia  the  body  of  San  Donate 
was  discovered  and  carried  away.  Nearer  home 
the  expedition  executed  those  continually  required 
readjustments  of  the  Dalmatian  towns  which 
almost  every  doge   in  succession,  since  they  were 


68  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

first  annexed,  had  been  compelled  to  take  in  hand. 
Trau,  Spalatro,  and  Zara  were  retaken  from  the 
Hungarians,  and  the  latter  city,  called  by  Sanudo 
Belgrado  {Bel^rado  aoe  Zara  vecchm),  from  which 
the  Venetian  governor  had  been  banished,  and 
which  had  cost  much  blood  and  trouble  to  the 
republic,  the  doge  is  said  to  have  caused  to  be  de- 
stroyed, *'that  its  ruin  might  be  an  example  to  the 
others,"  a  fact  which,  however,  does  not  prevent  it 
from  reappearing,  a  source  of  trouble  and  conflict 
to  many  a  subsequent  doge.  Here,  too,  Michieli 
paused  and  distributed  the  spoil,  setting  apart  a 
portion  for  God,  and  dividing  the  rest  among  the 
army.  Then,  with  great  triumph  and  victory,  after 
an  absence  of  nearly  three  years,  the  conquerors 
made  their  way  home. 

A  more  triumphant  voyage  had  never  been  made'. 
The  Venetians  had,  as  the  doge  predicted,  covered 
their  name  with  glory,  and  at  the  same  time  ex- 
tended and  increased  their  realm.  They  had 
acquired  the  third  part  of  Tyre  and  settled  a  strong 
colony  there,  to  push  their  trade  and  afford  an 
outlet  for  the  superfluous  energies  of  the  race. 
They  had  impressed  the  terror  of  their  name  and 
arms  upon  the  Grecian  isles.  The  doge  himself  had 
performed  some  of  those  magnanimous  deeds  which 
take  hold  upon  the  imagination  of  a  people,  and 
outlive  for  centuries  all  violent  victories  and  acqui- 
sitions. The  stories  of  the  leather  coinage  and  of 
the  disabled  galleys  are  such  as  make  those  tradi- 
tions which  are  the  very  life  of  a  people.  And 
Michieli  had  served  his  country  by  seizing  upon  the 
imagination  and  sympathies  of  other  lands.  He 
had  almost  been  made  king  in  Jerusalem.  When 
he  passed  by  Sicily  he  had  again  been  offered  a 
kingdom.  There  was  nothing  wanting  to  the  per- 
fection of  his  glory.  And  when  he  came  home 
triumphant,  and  told  his  story  of  danger  and  suc- 
cesses in  the  same  glowing  area  of  St.  Mark's,  to 
the  same  fervent  multitude  whose  sanction  he  had 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  59 

asked  to  the  undertaking,  it  is  easy  to  imagine 
what  his  welcome  must  have  been.  He  had  brought 
with  him  treasures  of  cunning  workmanship,  the 
jewels  of  gold  and  silver,  the  wonderful  embroid- 
eries and  carpets  of  the  East;  perhaps  also  the 
secret  of  the  glass- workers,  creating  a  new  trade 
among  the  existing  guilds,  things  to  make  all  Venice 
beside  itself  with  delight  and  admiration.  And 
when  the  two  saintly  corpses  were  carried  reveren- 
tially on  shore — one  for  Murano  to  consecrate  the 
newly  erected  church,  one  to  remain  in  Venice — 
and  the  shapeless  mass  of  the  great  stone  upon 
which  our  Lord  had  sat  in  His  weariness,  or  which, 
as  another  story  says,  had  served  Him  as  a  platform 
from  which  to  address  the  wondering  crowd,  with 
what  looks  of  awe  and  reverential  ecstasy  must  these 
sacred  relics  have  been  regarded,  the  crown  of  all 
the  victor's  spoil!  The  enlightened,  or  even  par- 
tially enlightened,  spectator  in  Venice,  as  well  as 
in  other  places,  has  ceased  to  feel  any  strong  ven- 
eration for  dead  men's  bones,  except  under  the 
decent  coverings  of  the  tomb ;  but  we  confess,  for 
our  own  part,  that  the  stone  which  stood  at  the 
gate  of  Tyre  all  those  ages,  and  which  the  valorous 
doge  haled  over  the  seas  to  make  an  altar  of, — the 
stone  on  which,  tradition  says,  our  Lord  rested 
when  He  passed  by  those  coasts  of  Tyre  and  Sidon, 
where  perhaps  that  anxious  woman  who  would  not 
take  an  answer  first  saw  Him  seated,  and  conceived 
the  hope  that  so  great  a  prophet  might  give  healing 
to  her  child, — has  an  interest  for  us  as  strong  as  if 
we  had  lived  in  the  twelfth  century  and  seen  the 
doge  come  home.  The  Baptistry  of  St.  Mark's  is 
well  worth  examination.  There  is  a  beautiful  de- 
scription of  it  in  the  second  volume  of  Mr.  Ruskin's 
**Stones  of  Venice,"  to  read  which  is  the  next  best 
thing  to  visiting  the  solemn  quiet  of  the  place ;  but 
there  is  no  allusion  there  to  this  one  veratious  relic. 
Doge  Domenico's  trophy — the  mighty  bit  of  Syrian 
stone. 


60  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

The  doge  lived  but  a  few  years  after  his  return. 
Mr.  Ruskin,  following  the  chroniclers,  says  that  he 
was  the  first  who  lighted  the  streets  of  Venice  by 
the  uncertain  and  not  very  effectual  method,  though 
so  much  better  than  nothing,  of  lamps  before  the 
shrines  which  abounded  at  every  corner;  so  that 
the  traveler,  if  he  pleases,  may  find  a  token  of  our 
doge  at  every  Traghetto  where  a  faint  little  light 
twinkles  before  the  shrine  inclosing  the  dim  print 
or  lithograph  which  represents  the  Madonna.  Mr. 
Ruskin  would  have  us  believe  that  he  for  one  would 
like  Venice  better  if  this  were  the  only  illumination 
of  the  city ;  but  we  may  be  allowed  to  imagine  that 
this  is  only  a  fond  exaggeration  on  the  part  of  that 
master.  The  Venetians  were  at  the  same  time 
prohibited  from  wearing  beards  according  to  the 
fashion  of  the  Greeks — a  rule  which  must  surely 
apply  to  some  particular  form  of  beard,  and  not  to 
that  manly  ornament  itself,  on  which  it  is  evident 
the  men  of  Venice  had  set  great  store. 

In  the  year  1 1 29,  having  reigned  only  eleven  years, 
though  he  had  accomplished  so  much,  and  achieved 
so  great  a  reputation,  the  doge,  being  old  and 
weary,  resigned  his  crown  and  retired  to  San 
Giorgio  Maggiore,  though  whether  with  the  inten- 
tion of  joining  the  brotherhood  there,  or  only  for 
repose,  we  are  not  told.  It  would  have  been  a 
touching  and  grand  retirement  for  an  old  prince 
who  had  spent  his  strength  for  Venice,  to  pass  his 
latter  da5^s  in  the  island  convent,  where  all  day 
long,  and  by  the  lovely  moonlight  nights  that 
glorify  the  lagoons,  he  could  have  watched  across 
the  gleaming  waters  his  old  home  and  all  the  busy 
scenes  in  which  he  had  so  lately  taken  the  chief 
part,  and  might  have  received  in  many  an  anxious 
moment  the  visit  of  the  reigning  doge,  and  given  his 
counsel,  and  become  the  best  adviser  of  the  city 
which  in  active  service  he  could  aid  no  more.  But 
this  ideal  position  was  not  realized  for  Doge  Dom- 
enico.     He  had  been  but  a   few   months   in   San 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  61 

Giorgio  when  he  died,  full  of  years  and  honors, 
and  was  buried  in  the  reftige  he  had  chosen.  "The 
place  of  his  grave,"  says  Mr.  Ruskin,  **yon  find  by 
going  down  the  steps  on  your  right  hand  behind 
the  altar,  leading  into  what  was  yet  a  monastery 
before  the  last  Italian  revolution,  but  is  now  a  finally 
deserted  loneliness.  On  his  grave  there  is  a  heap 
of  frightful  modern  upholsterer's  work  (Long- 
hena's),  his  first  tomb  being  removed  as  too  modest 
and  time-worn  for  the  vulgar  Venetian  of  the 
seventeenth  century.  The  old  inscription  was 
copied  on  the  rotten  black  slate  which  is  breaking 
away  in  thin  flakes  dimmed  by  destroying  salt."  It 
is  scarcely  decipherable,  but  it  is  given  at  length 
by  Sanudo:  ''Here  lies  the  terror  of  the  Greeks, 
and  the  glory  of  the  Venetians,"  says  the  epitaph; 
*'the  man  whom  Emmanuel  feared,  and  all  the  world 
still  honors.  The  capture  of  Tyre,  the  destuction  of 
Syria,  the  desolation  ot  Hungary,  proclaim  his 
strength.  He  made  the  Venetia;ns  to  dwell  in  peace 
and  quiet,  for  while  he  flourished  the  country  was 
safe."  We  add  the  concluding  lines  in  the  transla- 
tion given  by  Mr.  Ruskin:  "Whosoever  thou  art 
who  comest  to  behold  this  tomb  of  his,  bow  thyself 
down  before  God  because  of  him." 

It  was  probably  from  an  idea  of  humility  that  the 
great  doge  had  himself  buried,  not  in  the  high 
places  of  the  church,  but  in  the  humble  corridor 
which  led  to  the  monastery.  All  that  Mr.  Ruskin 
says  with  his  accustomed  force  about  the  hideous- 
ness  of  the  tomb  is  sufficiently  juct;  yet,  though 
nothing  may  excuse  the  vulgar  Venetian  of  the 
seventeenth  century  for  his  bad  taste  in  architecture, 
it  is  still  morally  in  his  favor  that  he  desired  in  his 
offensive  way  to  do  honor  to  the  great  dead — a 
good  intention  which  perhaps  our  great  autocrat 
in  art  does  not  sufficiently  appreciate. 

After  Domenico  Michieli  there  intervened  two 
doges,  one  his  son-in-law  Polani,  another  a  Moro- 
sini,  before  it  came  to  the  turn  of  his  son,  Vitale 


62  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

II.,  to  ascend  the  throne.  What  may  be  called  the 
ordinary  of  Venetian  history,  the  continual  conflict 
on  the  Dalmatian  coasts,  went  on  during  both  these 
reigns  with  unfailing  pertinacity;  and  there  had 
arisen  a  new  enemy,  the  Norman,  who  had  got  pos- 
session of  Naples,  and  whose  hand  was  by  turns 
against  every  man.  These  fightings  came  to  little, 
and  probably  did  less  harm  than  appears;  other- 
wise, if  war  meant  all  that  it  means  now,  life  on  the 
Dalmatian  coast,  and  among  the  Greek  Isles,  must 
have  been  little  worth  the  living.  In  the  time  of 
Vitale  Michieli's  predecessor,  Sabellico  says,  the 
Campanile  of  San  Marco  was  built,  '*a  work  truly 
beautiful  and  admirable.  The  summit  of  this  is  of 
pure  and  resplendent  gold,  and  rises  to  such  a 
height  that  not  only  can  you  see  all  the  city,  but 
toward  the  west  and  the  south  can  behold  great 
stretches  of  the  sea,  in  such  a  manner  that  those 
who  sail  from  hence  to  Istria  and  Dalmatia,  two 
hundred  stadii  away  and  more,  are  guided  by  this 
splendor  as  by  a  faithful  star."  This  was  the  first 
of  the  several  erections  which  have  ended  in  the 
grand  and  simple  lines  of  the  Campanile  we  know 
so  well,  rising  straight  out  of  the  earth  with  a  self- 
reliant  force  which  makes  its  very  bareness  impres- 
sive. Rising  out  of  the  earth,  however,  is  the  last 
phrase  to  use  in  speaking  of  this  wonderful  tower, 
which,  as  Sabellico  reports,  wondering,  is  so 
deeply  founded  in  mysterious  intricacies  of  piles 
and  props  below  that  almost  as  much  is  hidden  as 
that  which  is  visible. 

'  Vitale  Michieli  II.  has  this  distinction,  that  he 
was  the  last  of  the  doges  elected  by  that  curious 
version  of  universal  suffrage  which  is  to  be  found 
in  this  primitive  age  in  most  republics — that  is  to 
say,  the  system  by  which  the  few  who  pull  the 
strings  in  every  human  community  make  it  appar- 
ent to  the  masses  that  the  potent  suggestion  whis- 
pered in  their  ear  is  their  own  inspiration.  Such 
had  been,  up  to  this  period,  the  manner  of  electing 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  63 

the  doge.  The  few  who  were  instinctively  and  by 
nature  at  the  head  of  affairs — men  themselves 
elected  by  nobody,  the  first  by  natural  right,  or  be- 
cause their  fathers  had  been  so,  or  because  they 
were  richer,  bolder,  more  enterprising,  more  auda- 
cious, than  the  rest — settled  among  themselves 
which  of  them  was  to  be  the  ruler;  then  calling  to- 
gether the  people  in  San  Marco,  gave  them,  but  with 
more  skill  and  less  frankness  than  the  thing  is  done 
in  ecclesiastical  matters  among  ourselves,  their  co7ige 
d elite.  The  doge  elected  by  this  method  reigned 
with  the  help  of  these  unofficial  counsellors, — of 
whom  two  only  seem  to  have  borne  that  name, — 
and  he  was  as  easily  ruined  when  reverses  came  as 
he  had  been  promoted.  But  the  time  of  more  for- 
mal institutions  was  near,  and  the  primitive  order 
had  ceased  to  be  enough  for  the  rising  intelligence, 
or  at  least  demands,  of  the  people.  The  third 
Michieli  had,  however,  the  enormous  advantage  of 
being  the  son  of  the  most  distinguished  of  recent 
doges,  and  no  doubt  was  received  with  those  shouts 
of  ''Provato!  Provatof  (that  is,  Approvatd)  which 
was  the  form  of  the  popular  fiat.  One  of  the  first 
incidents  of  his  reign  was  a  brief  but  sharp  struggle 
for  the  independence  of  the  metropolitan  church  of 
Grado,  once  more  attacked  by  the  Patriarch  of 
Aquileia.  The  Venetians  overcame  the  assailants, 
and  brought  the  belligerent  prelate  and  twelve  of 
his  canons  as  prisoners  to  Venice,  whence,  after  a 
while,  they  were  sent  home,  having  promised  to 
meddle  with  Grado  no  more,  and  to  pay  a  some- 
what humiliating  tribute  yearly — in  the  exaction  of 
which  there  is  a  grim  humor.  Every  year  before 
Lent,  in  the  heat  of  what  we  should  call  the  Car- 
nival, a  great  bull  and  twelve  pigs  were  to  be  sent 
to  Venice,  representing  the  patriarch  and  his 
twelve  canons.  On  the  Thursday,  when  the  mirth 
was  at  its  height,  the  bull  was  hunted  in  the  Piazza, 
and  the  pigs  decapitated  in  memory  of  the  priestly 
captives.      This  curious  ironical  celebration  lasted 


64  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

till  the  days  of  Sabellico  and  Sanudo,  the  latter  of 
whom  entitles  it  the  giobba  di  Carnevale.  It  shows, 
notwithstanding  all  the  reverential  sentiments  of 
these  ages  of  faith,  how  a  certain  contempt  for  the 
priest  as  an  adversary  tempered  the  respect  of  the 
most  pious  for  all  the  aids  and  appurtenances  of  re- 
ligion."^ 

This,  however,  was  the  only  victory  in  the  life  of 
a  doge  so  much  less  fortunate  than  his  father.  Italy 
was  in  great  commotion  throughout  his  reign,  all 
the  great  northern  cities,  with  Venice  at  their  head, 
being  bound  in  what  was  called  the  Lombard 
League  against  the  Emperor  Frederick  Barbarossa. 
But  the  Venetians  were  more  exposed  to  attacks  from 
the  other  side,  from  the  smoldering  enmity  of  the 
Greeks,  than  from  anything  Barbarossa  could  do; 
and  it  was  from  this  direction  that  ruin  came 
upon  the  third  Michieli.  Not  only  were  conspira- 
cies continually  fostered  in  the  cities  of  the  Adri- 
atic; but  the  Greek  Em^peror  Emmanuel  seized  the 
opportunity,  while  Venice  seemed  otherwise  occu- 
pied, to  issue  a  sudden  edict  by  which  all  the  Vene- 
tian traders  in  his  realm  were  seized  upon  a  certain 
day,  their  goods  confiscated,  themselves  thrown 
into  prison.  His  reckoning,  however,  was  prema- 
ture ;  for  the  excitement  in  Venice  when  this  news 
reached  the  astonished  and  enraged  republic  was 
furious;  and  with  cries  of  "War!  war!"  the  indig- 
nant populace  rushed  together,  offering  themselves 
and  everything  they  could  attribute,  to  the  aveng- 
ing of  this  injury. 

The  great  preparations  which  were  at  once  set  on 
foot  demanded,  however,  a  larger  outlay  than  could 
be  provided  for  by  voluntary  offerings,  and  the 
necessity  of  the  moment  originated  a  new  movement 
of  the  greatest  importance  to  the  world.  The  best 
expedient  which  occurred  to  the  Venetian  states- 

*Romanin  considers  the  bull  to  have  had  nothing  to  do  with 
this  commemoration,  the  twelve  pigs  accompanied  by  twelve 
caKes  being,  he  says,  the  tribute  exacted. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  65 

men  was  to  raise  a  national  loan,  bearing  interest, 
to  collect  which,  officers  were  appointed  in  every 
district  of  Venice  with  all  the  machinery  of  an  in- 
come tax,  assessing  every  family  according  to  its 
means.  These  contributions,  the  first,  or  almost 
the .  first,  directly  levied  in  Venice,  and  all  the  in- 
quisitorial demands  necessary  to  regulate  them, 
passed  without  offense  in  the  excitement  of  the  great 
national  indignation,  but  told  afterward  upon  the 
fate  of  the  doge.  Vitale  Michieli  set  out  in  Sep- 
tember, 1 17 1,  six  months  after  the  outrage,  at  the 
head  of  a  great  fleet,  to  avenge  it ;  but  misfortune 
pursued  this  unlucky  prince.  He  was  beguiled  by 
his  wily  adversary  into  waiting  for  explanations  and 
receiving  embassies,  only  intended  to  gain  time;  or 
worse,  to  expose  to  the  dangers  of  inaction  and  the 
chances  of  pestilence  the  great  and  powerful  expe- 
dition which  the  Greeks  were  not  able  to  encounter 
in  a  more  legitimate  way.  These  miserable  tactics 
succeeded  fully;  lingering  about  the  islands,  at 
Chios,  or  elsewhere,  disease  completed  what  discon- 
tent and  idleness  had  begun.  The  Greek  emperor, 
all  the  chroniclers  unite  in  saying,  poisoned  the 
wells  so  that  everybody  who  drank  of  them  fell  ill. 
The  idea  that  poison  is  the  cause  of  every  such 
outbreak  of  pestilence  is  still,  as  the  reader  knows, 
a  rooted  belief  of  the  primitive  mind — one  of  those 
original  intuitions  gone  astray,  and  confused  by 
want  of  understanding,  which  perhaps  the  progress 
of  knowledge  may  set  right;  for  it  is  very  likely 
the  waters  were  poisoned,  though  not  by  the  em- 
peror. The  great  epidemic  which  followed  was  of 
the  most  disastrous  and  fatal  character;  not  only 
decimating  the  fleet,  but  when  it  returned  to  Venice 
broken  and  discouraged,  spreading  throughout  the 
city. 

This  great  national  misfortune  gave  rise  to  a  curi- 
ous and  romantic  incident.  The  family  Giustinian, 
one  of  the  greatest  in  Venice,  was,  according  to  the 
story,  so  strongly  represented  in  the   armada  that 

6  Venico 


66  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

the  race  became  virtually  extinct  by  the  deaths  one 
after  another,  of  its  ii.einbers,  in  the  disastrous  voy- 
age homeward.  The  only  man  left  was  a  young 
monk,  or  rather  novice  not  yet  professed,  in  the 
convent  of  San  Niccolo,  on  the  Lido.  When  the 
plague-stricken  crews  got  home,  and  this  misfor- 
tune among  so  many  others  was  made  apparent,  the 
doge  sent  messengers  to  the  Pope,  asking  that 
young  Niccolo  might  be  liberated  from  his  vows. 
The  old  Giustiniani  fathers,  in  the  noble  houses 
which  were  not  as  yet  the  palaces  we  know,  must 
have  waited  among  their  weeping  women — with  an 
anxiety  no  doubt  tempered  by  the  determination, 
it  the  Pope  should  refuse,  to  take  the  matter  into 
their  own  hands — for  the  decision  of  Rome.  And 
it  is  wonderful  that  no  dramatist  or  modern  Italian 
romancer,  touched  by  the  prevalent  passion  for 
moral  dissection,  should  have  thought  of  taking  for 
his  hero  this  young  monk  upon  the  silent  shores  of 
the  Lido,  amid  all  the  wonderful  dramas  of  light 
and  shade  that  go  on  upon  the  low  horizon  sweep- 
ing round  on  every  side,  a  true  globe  of  level,  long 
reflections,  of  breadth  and  space  and  solitude,  so 
apt  for  thought.  Had  he  known,  perhaps,  before 
he  thought  of  dedication  to  the  Church,  young 
Anna  Michieli,  between  whose  eyes  and  his,  from 
her  windows  in  the  doge's  palace  to  the  green  line 
of  the  Lido,  there  was  nothing  but  the  dazzle  of  the 
sunshine  and  the  ripple  of  the  sea?  Was  there  a 
simple  romance  of  this  natural  kind,  waiting  to  be 
turned  into  joyful  fulfillment  by  the  Pope's  favor- 
able answer?  Or  had  the  novice  to  give  up  his 
dreams  of  holy  seclusion,  or  those  highest,  all- 
engrossing  visions  of  ambition,  which  were  to  no 
man  more  open  than  to  a  bold  and  able  priest? 
These  are  questions  which  might  well  furnish  forth 
pages  of  delicate  description  and  discussion. 
Naturally  the  old  chronicler  has  no  thought  of  any 
such  refinement.  The  Pope  consented,  and  the 
doge  gave  his  daughter  to  young  Niccolo,  "which 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  fit 

thing  procured  the  continuance  in  the  city  of  the 
Casa  Giustinian,  in  which  afterward  flourished  men 
ot  the  highest  intellect  and  great  orators,"  is  all  the 
record  says.  The  resuscitated  race  gave  many 
notable  servants  to  the  state,  although  no  doge  un- 
til well  on  in  the  seventeenth  century.  When  the 
pair  thus  united  had  done  their  duty  to  the  state, 
Niccolo  Giustinian  rededicated  himself  in  his  old 
convent  and  resumed  his  religious  profession ;  while 
Anna,  his  wife,  proceeded  to  her  chosen  nunnery, 
and  there  lived  a  life  so  holy  as  to  add  to  the  fame 
of  her  family  by  attaining  that  partial  canonization 
which  is  represented  by  the  title  of  Beata.  This, 
one  cannot  but  feel,  was  an  admirable  way  of  mak- 
ing the  best  of  both  worlds. 

"In  this  year,"  says  Sanudo,  "there  were  brought 
to  Venice  from  Constantinople,  in  three  great  ships, 
three  mighty  columns,"  one  of  which  in  the  course 
of  disembarkation  fell  into  the  sea,  and  remains 
there,  it  is  to  be  supposed,  till  this  day;  the  others 
are  the  two  well-known  pillars  of  the  Piazzetta. 
We  need  not  repeat  the  story,  so  often  told,  of  how 
it  was  that,  no  one  being  able  to  raise  them  to  their 
place,  a  certain  Lombard,  Niccolo  of  the  Barterers, 
succeeded  in  doing  so  with  wetted  ropes,  and  asked 
in  return  for  permission  to  establish  a  gambling- 
table  in  the  space  between  them.  Sabellico  says 
that  the  privilege  granted  went  so  far  "that  every 
kind  of  deception"  was  permitted  to  be  practiced 
there ;  but  it  can  scarcely  be  supposed  that  even  a 
sharp  Lombard  money-changer  would  ask  so  much. 
This  permission,  given  because  they  could  not  help 
it, — having  foolishly  pledged  their  word,  like 
Herod, — was,  by  the  doge  and  his  counsellors,  made 
as  odious  as  possible  by  the  further  law  that  all 
public  executions  should  take  place  between  the 
columns.  It  was  a  fatal  place  to  land  at,  and 
brought  disaster,  as  was  afterward  seen ;  but  its  evil 
augury  seems  to  have  disappeared  along  with  the 
gaming-tables,  as  half  the  gondolas  in  Venice  lie  at 


68  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICM; 

its  margin  now.  The  columns  would  seem  to  have 
been  erected  in  the  year  1172,  but  whether  by  Doge 
Vitale  or  his  successor  is  uncertain. 

Other  improvements  were  don<5^  under  this  doge 
besides  the  elevation  of  the  columns  in  the  Piazzetta. 
He  filled  up  the  canal  which  crossed  the  broad  space 
of  the  Piazza,  still  a  green  and  open  ground,  partly 
orchards  and  enlivened  by  this  line  of  water — and 
thus  prepared  the  way  for  the  work  of  his  successor, 
who  first  began  to  pave  it,  and  surrounded  it  with 
buildings  and  lines  of  porticoes,  suggesting,  no 
doubt,  its  present  form.  There  must,  however, 
have  been  a  charm  in  the  greenness  and  trees  and 
sparkling  waters — grass  growing  and  foliage  wav- 
ing at  the  foot  of  the  great  golden-crowned  Cam- 
panile, and  adding  a  brightness  of  nature  to  the 
Byzantine  splendor  of  the  church  and  palace.  The 
Camera  degli  Impreshdz,  or  great  Public  Loan  Office, 
however, — the  first  National  Bank  of  Europe, — is 
more  important  to  history  than  even  the  ceaseless 
improvements  of  the  city.  The  first  loan  is  said  to 
have  carried  interest  at  the  rate  of  four  per  cent. — 
a  high  rate  for  a  public  debt — and  the  organization 
necessary  to  arrange  and  regulate  it  seems  to  have 
come  into  being  with  wonderful  speed  and  com- 
pleteness. The  time  was  beginning  when  the  con- 
stitution, or  rather  want  of  constitution,  of  the 
ancient  republic,  full  of  the  accidents  and  hasty  ex- 
pedients of  an  infant  state,  would  no  longer  suffice 
for  the  gradually  rising  and  developing  city. 

None  of  these  things,  however,  stood  the  doge  in 
stead  when  he  came  back  beaten  and  humiliated, 
with  the  plague  in  his  ships,  to  face  his  judges  in 
solemn  conclave  in  San  Marco — a  tumultuous 
assembly  of  alarmed  and  half-maddened  men,  trem- 
bling for  their  lives  and  for  the  lives  of  those  dear  to 
them,  and  stung  by  that  sense  of  failure  which  was 
intolerable  to  the  haughty  republic.  This  was  in 
the  month  of  May,  1172.  F'rom  the  first  the  meet- 
ing must  have  borne  an  air  dangerous  to  the  doge. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  6d 

against  whom  there  began  to  rise  a  cry  that  he  was 
the  occacion  of  all  their  evils — of  the  war,  of  en- 
forced military  service  and  compulsory  contribu- 
tions, and,  last  and  greatest,  of  the  pestilence  which 
he  had  brought  back  with  him.  The  men  who  had 
virtually  elected  him,  who  were  his  friends,  and  had 
shared  the  councils  of  his  reign,  would,  no  doubt, 
stand  by  him  so  far  as  their  fears  permitted;  but 
the  harmless  assembly  called  together  to  give  its 
sanction  to  the  election  of  a  new  and  popular  doge 
is  very  different  from  the  same  crowd  in  the  tradi- 
tionary power  of  its  general  parliament,  assembling 
angry  and  alarmed,  its  pride  wounded  and  its  fears 
excited,  to  pronounce  whose  fault  these  misfortunes 
were,  and  what  should  be  done  to  the  offender. 
The  loud  outcry  of  tradttore,  so  ready  to  the  lips  of 
the  populace  in  such  circumstances,  resounded 
through  San  Marco,  and  there  were  ominous  mur- 
murs that  the  doge's  head  was  in  danger.  He  tried 
to  clear  himself  by  a  touching  oration,  co?i  pmngente 
parole^  says  one;  then  hastily  going  out  of  the 
church,  and  from  the  presence  of  the  excited 
assembly,  took  his  way  toward  San  Zaccaria,  along 
the  Riva,  by  what  would  seem  to  have  been  a  little- 
frequented  way.  As  he  passed  through  one  of  the 
little  calk,  or  lanes,  called  now,  tradition  says,  Calle 
delle  Rasse,  someone  who  had,  or  thought  he  had, 
a  special  grievance,  sprang  out  upon  him  and 
stabbed  him.  He  was  able  to  drag  himself  to  San 
Zaccaria  and  make  his  confession,  but  no  more;  and 
there  died  and  was  buried.  The  people,  horror- 
stricken  perhaps  by  the  sudden  execution  of  a  doom 
which  had  only  been  threatened,  gave  him  a  great 
funeral,  and  his  sudden  end  so  emphasized  the 
necessity  of  a  relation  more  guarded  and  less  per- 
sonal between  the  chief  ruler  and  the  city  that  the 
leading  minds  in  Venice  proceeded  at  once  to  take 
order  for  elections  more  formal  and  a  constitution 
more  exact.  There  had  been,  according  to  primi- 
tive rule,  two  counsellors  of  permanent  character, 


70  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

and  an  indefinite  number  of  pregadt^  or  men 
"prayed"  to  help  the  doge — a  sort  of  informal  coun- 
cil; but  these  were  called  together  at  the  doge's 
pleasure,  and  were  responsible  only  to  him.  The 
steps  which  were  now  taken  introduced  the  prin- 
ciple of  elective  assemblies,  and  added  many  new 
precautions  for  the  choice  and  for  the  safety  of  the 
doge.  The  fact  which  we  have  already  remarked, 
that  all  the  names*  given  belong  to  families  already 
conspicuous  in  Venice,  continued  with  equal  force 
under  the  new  rule.  No  doubt  the  elections  would 
be  made  on  the  primitive  principle;  one  man  sug- 
gesting another,  all  of  the  same  class  as  those  who, 
without  the  forms  of  election,  had  hitherto  sug- 
gested the  successive  princes,  for  the  sanction  of  the 
people.  But  the  mass  of  the  Venetians  probably 
thought  with  enthusiasm  that  they  had  taken  a 
great  step  toward  the  consolidation  of  their  liberties 
when  they  elected  these  Dandolos,  Falieris, 
Morosinis,  and  the  rest,  to  be  their  representatives, 
and  do  authoritatively  what  they  had  done  all  along 
in  more  subtle  ways. 

Thus  ended  the  Doges  Michieli:  but  not  the  fam- 
ily, which  is  one  of  the  few  which  have  outlived  all 
vicissitudes  and  still  have  a  habitation  and  a  name 
in  Venice.  And  the  new  regtine  of  elective  govern- 
ment began. 

♦Romanin  informs  us  that  a  few  names  of  the  people  appear 
in  early  documents,  as  Stefano  Tiuctor  (dyer),  Vitale  Staniario 
(tin-worker),  etc.,  but  these  are  so  few  as  to  prove  rather  than 
confute  the  almost  invariable  aristocratic  rule. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  71 


CHAPTER  III. 

ENRICO    DANDOLO. 

The  first  beg-innings  of  a  more  formal  mode  of 
government  thus  followed  close  upon  the  murder 
of  Vitale  Michieli,  The  troubles  of  the  state  under 
his  rule,  as  well  as  the  prompt  vengeance  taken 
upon  him  by  the  infuriated  multitude,  combined  to 
make  it  apparent  that  it  was  not  for  the  safety  or 
dignity  of  Venice  either  to  remain  so  entirely  in  the 
hands  of  her  chief  magistrate,  or  to  bring  the 
whole  business  of  the  state  to  a  standstill,  and  im- 
pair her  reputation  among  foreign  countries,  by  his 
murder.  The  republic  had  thus  arrived  at  a  com- 
prehension of  the  idea  which  governments  of  much 
later  date  have  also  had  impressed  upon  them  pain- 
fully, that  the  person  of  the  head  of  the  state  ought 
to  be  sacrosanto,  sacred  from  violence.  And,  no 
doubt,  the  rising  complications  of  public  life,  the 
growth  of  the  rich  and  powerful  community  in 
which  personal  character  was  so  strong,  and  so 
many  interests  existed,  now  demanded  established 
institutions  and  a  rule  less  primitive  than  that  of  a 
prince  with  both  the  legislative  and  executive  power 
in  his  hands,  even  when  kept  in  check  by  a  coun- 
sellor or  two,  and  the  vague  mass  of  the  people,  by 
whom  his  proceedings  had  to  be  approved  or  non- 
approved  after  an  oration  skilfully  prepared  to  move 
the  popular  mind.  The  Consiglio  Maggiore,  the 
great  Venetian  Parliament,  afterward  so  curiously 
limited,  came  into  being  at  this  crisis  in  the  na- 
tional history.  The  mode  of  its  first  selection  reads 
like  the  description  of  a  Chinese  puzzle;  and  per- 
haps the  subtle,  yet  artless  complication  of  elec- 
tions, ending  at  last  in  the  doge,  may  be  taken  as  a 
sort  of  appeal  to  the  fates,  by  a  community  not 
very  confident  in  its  own  powers,  and  bent  upon 


72  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

outwitting  destiny  itself.  Two  men  were  first 
chosen  by  each  sestiere  or  district  (a  division  which 
had  been  made  only  a  short  time  before  for  the  con- 
venience of  raising  funds  for  Doge  Vitale's  fatal  ex- 
pedition), each  of  whom  nominated  forty  of  the  best 
citizens,  thus  forming  the  Great  Council,  who,  in 
their  turn,  elected  eleven  representatives  who 
elected  the  doge.  The  latter  arrangement  was 
changed  on  several  occasions  before  that  which  com- 
mended itself  as  the  best — and  which  was  more  ar- 
tificial and  childishly  elaborate  still — was  chosen  at 
last. 

The  people  were  little  satisfied  at  first  with  this 
constitutional  change,  and  there  were  tumults  and 
threatened  insurrections  in  anticipation  of  the  new 
body  of  electors,  and  of  the  choice  of  a  prince  other- 
wise than  by  acclamation  of  the  whole  community, 
assembled  in  San  Marco.  "It  was  in  consequence 
ordained,"  says  Romanin,  *'that  the  new  doge 
should  be  presented  to  the  multitude  with  these 
words:  *This  is  your  doge,  if  it  pleases  you,'  and 
by  this  means  the  tumult  was  stilled."  So  easy  is 
it  to  deceive  the  multitude!  What  difference  the 
new  rules  made  in  reality  it  would  be  difficult  to 
say.  The  council  was  made  up  of  the  same  men 
who  had  always  ruled  Venice.  A  larger  number, 
no  doubt,  had  actual  power,  but  there  was  no 
change  of  hands.  The  same  fact  we  have  already 
noted  as  evident  through  all  the  history  of  the  re- 
public. New  names  rarely  rise  out  of  the  crowd. 
The  families  from  among  whom  all  functionaries 
were  chosen  at  the  beginning  of  all  things  still  held 
power  at  the  end. 

The  power  of  the  doge  was  greatly  limited  by 
these  new  laws,  but  at  least  his  person  was  safe. 
He  might  be  relieved  from  his  office,  as  happened 
sometimes,  but,  save  in  one  memorable  instance, 
he  was  no  longer  liable  to  violence.  And  he  was 
surrounded  by  greater  state  and  received  all  the 
semi-oriental  honors  which  could  adorn  a  pageant. 


THE  MAKERS  OP  VENICE.  73 

Sebastiano  Ziani,  the  first  doge  chosen  under  the 
new  order,  was  carried  in  triumph  round  the 
Piazza,  throwing-  money  to  the  crowd  from  his  un- 
steady seat.  Whether  this  was  his  own  idea  (for  he 
was  very  rich  and  liberal),  or  whether  it  was  sug- 
gested to  him  as  a  way  of  increasing  his  popularity, 
we  are  not  told;  but  the  jealous  aristocrats  about 
him,  who  had  just  got  hold  ot  the  power  of  law- 
making, and  evidently  thought  there  could  not  be 
too  detailed  a  code,  seized  upon  the  idea,  perceiv- 
ing at  once  its  picturesque  and  attractive  possibili- 
ties and  its  dangers,  decided  that  this  largesse 
should  always  be  given  by  a  new  doge,  but  settled 
the  sum,  not  less  than  a  hundred  nor  more  than  a 
hundred  and  fifty  ducats,  with  jealous  determina- 
tion that  no  wealthy  potentate  should  steal  the  hearts 
of  the  populace  with  gifts.  There  came  to  be  in 
later  times  a  special  coinage  for  the  purpose,  called 
Oselle^  of  which  specimens  are  still  to  be  found, 
and  which  antiquarians,  or  rather  those  lovers  of 
the  curious  who  have  swamped  the  true  antiqua- 
rian, *'pick  up"  wherever  they  appear^ 

Sebastiano  Ziani,  according  to  some  of  our  chron- 
iclers, was  not  the  man  upon  whom  the  eleven  elec- 
tors first  fixed  their  choice,  who  was,  it  is  said, 
Aurio,  or  Orio  Mastropiero,  the  companion  of  Ziani 
in  a  recent  embassage,  and  his  friend;  who 
pointed  out  that  Ziani  was  much  older  and  richer 
than  himself,  and  that  it  would  be  to  the  greater 
advantage  of  Venice  that  he  should  be  chosen — a 
magnanimous  piece  of  advice.  This  story  unfortun- 
ately is  not  authenticated;  neither  is  the  much 
more  important  one  of  the  romantic  circumstances 
touching  the  encounter  of  Pope  Alexander  III.  and 
the  Emperor  Barbarossa  at  Venice,  which  the  too 
conscientious  historian,  Romanin  (not  to  speak  of 
his  authorities),  will  not  hear  of,  notwithstanding 
the  assertions  of  Sanudo,  Sabellico,  and  the  rest, 
and  the  popular  faith  and  the  pictures  in  the 
ducal   palace,    all  of  which  maintain  it   strongly. 


74  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

The  popular  tale  is  as  follows.  It  is  painted  in  the 
hall  of  the  Maggiore  Consiglio,  where  all  the  world 
may  see  it. 

The  Pope,  driven  from  Rome  by  the  enmity  of 
the  emperor,  after  many  wanderings  about  the 
world,  took  refuge  in  Venice,  where  he  concealed 
himself  in  the  humble  habit  of  a  friar;  acting, 
some  say,  as  cook  to  the  brethren  in  the  convent 
of  La  Carita.  The  doge,  hearing  how  great  a  per- 
sonage was  in  the  city,  hurried  to  visit  him,  and  to 
give  him  a  lodging  worthy  of  his  dignity;  then  sent 
ambassadors  to  intercede  with  Barbarossa  on  his 
behalf.  He  of  the  red  beard  received  benignly  the 
orators  of  the  great  republic ;  but  when  he  heard 
their  errand,  changed  countenance,  and  bade  them 
tell  the  doge  that  unless  he  delivered  up  the  fugi- 
tive Pope  it  would  be  the  worse  for  him — that  the 
eagle  should  fly  into  the  church  of  San  Marco,  and 
that  its  foundation  should  be  made  as  a  plowed 
field.  Such  words  as  these  are  not  apt  to  Venetian 
ears.  The  whole  city  rose  as  one  man,  and  an 
armata  was  immediately  prepared  to  resist  any  that 
might  be  sent  against  Venice.  The  doge  himself, 
though  an  old  man  over  seventy,  led  the  fleet. 
Mass  was  said  solemnly  in  vSan  Marco  by  the  Pontiff 
himself,  who  girded  his  loyal  defender  with  a 
golden  sword,  and  blessed  him  as  he  went  forth  to 
battle.  There  were  seventy-five  galleys  on  the  op- 
posite sided,  commanded  by  young  Prince  Otto,  the 
son  of  Barbarossa,  and  but  thirty  on  that  of  Ve- 
nice. It  was  once  more  the  day  of  the  Ascension — 
that  fortunate  day  for  the  republic — when  the  two 
fleets  met  in  the  Adriatic.  The  encounter  ended  in 
complete  defeat  to  the  imperial  ships,  of  which 
forty  were  taken,  along  with  the  commander,  Otto, 
and  many  of  his  most  distinguished  followers.  The 
Venetians  went  home  with  natural  exultation,  send- 
ing before  them  the  glorious  news,  which  was  so  un- 
expected, and  so  speedy,  that  the  whole  city  rushed 
to  the  Riva,  with  half-incredulous  wonder  and  joy 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  IB 

to  see  the  victors  disembark  with  their  prisoners, 
among  them  the  son  of  the  great  German  prince, 
who  had  set  out  with  the  intention  of  planting  his 
eagles  in  San  Marco.  The  Pope  himself  came 
down  to  the  Riva  to  meet  the  victorious  doge,  and 
drawing  a  ring  from  his  finger  gave  it  to  his  deliv- 
erer, hailing  him  as  the  lord  and  master  of  the  sea. 
It  was  on  Ascension  Day  that  Pietro  Orseolo  had 
set  out  from  Venice  on  the  triumphant  expedition 
which  ended  in  the  extermination  of  the  pirates, 
and  the  extension  of  the  Venetian  sway  over  all  the 
coast  of  the  Adriatic — and  then  it  was,  according 
to  our  chroniclers,  that  the  feast  of  the  Sponalizio^ 
the  wedding  of  the  sea,  had  been  first  established. 
But  by  this  time  they  have  forgotten  that  early 
hint,  and  here  we  have  once  more,  and  with  more 
detailed  authorities,  the  institution  of  this  great 
and  picturesque  ceremony. 

Prince  Otto  was  nobly  treated  by  his  captors,  and 
after  a  while  undertook  to  be  their  ambassador  t© 
his  father,  and  was  sent  on  parole  to  Rome  to  the 
emperor.  The  result  was  that  Frederick  yielded 
to  his  son's  representations,  and  the  Venetian  pro- 
wess, and  consented  to  go  to  Venice,  and  there  be 
reconciled  to  the  Pope.  The  meeting  took  place 
before  the  gates  of  San  Marco,  where  His  Holiness, 
in  all  his  splendor  ,  seated  in  a  great  chair  {grande 
e  honoratissima  5^^^^), awaited  the  coming  of  his  rival. 
Popular  tradition  never  imagined  a  more  striking 
scene :  the  Piazza  outside  thronged,  every  window, 
balcony,  and  housetop,  with  eager  spectators,  used 
to  form  part  of  every  public  event  and  spectacle, 
and  knowing  exactly  every  coign  of  vantage,  and 
how  to  see  a  pageant  best.  The  great  Frederic!:, 
the  story  goes,  approached  the  seat  where  the  vicar 
of  Christ  awaited  him,  and  subduing  his  pride  to 
necessity,  knelt  and  kissed  the  Pope's  foot.  Alex- 
ander, on  his  part,  as  proud  and  elated  with  his  vic- 
tory, raised  his  foot  and  planted  it  on  Barbarossa's 


76  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

neck,  intoning  as  he  did  so,  as  Sabellico  says,  that 
Psalm  of  David,  ''Super  esptdem  et  basthscum  am- 
bulabts.''  The  emperor,  with  a  suppressed  roar  of 
defiance  in  his  red  beard,  exclaimed:  "Not  thee, 
but  Peter!*'  To  which  the  Pope,  like  one  enraged, 
planting  his  foot  more  firmly,  replied:  "Both  I 
and  Peter."  One  can  imagine  this  brief  colloquy 
carried  on,  under  their  breath,  fierce  and  terse, 
when  the  two  enemies,  greatest  in  all  the  western 
hemisphere,  met  in  forced  amity ;  and  how  the  good 
doge,  amiable  peacemaker  and  master  of  the  cere- 
monies, and  all  the  alarmed  nobles,  and  the  crowds 
of  spectators,  ripe  for  any  wonder,  must  have  looked 
on,  marveling  what  words  of  blessing  they  were 
saying  to  each  other,  while  all  the  lesser  greatnesses 
had  to  wait. 

But  the  later  historians  refuse  their  affirmation  to 
this  exceedingly  circumstantial,  most  picturesque, 
and,  it  must  be  added,  most  natural  story.  Ro- 
manin  assures  us,  on  the  faith  of  all  the  documents, 
that  the  meeting  was  a  stately  ceremonial,  arranged 
by  Pope  and  emperor,  without  either  passion  or 
humiliation  in  it;  that  the  Pope  was  not  a  fugitive 
in  Venice,  and  that  the  emperor  never  threatened  to 
fly  his  eagles  into  San  Marco;  that  Prince  Otto 
never  was  made  prisoner,  and  that  the  Pontiff 
received  with  nothing  less  satisfactory  than  a  kiss 
of  peace  the  formal  homage  of  the  emperor.  The 
facts  are  hard  to  deny,  and  no  doubt  Romanin  is 
right.  But  there  is  a  depth  of  human  nature  in  the 
fable  which  the  facts  do  not  reveal.  It  is  impossi- 
ble to  imagine  anything  more  likely  to  be  true  than 
that  brief  interchange  of  words,  the  churchman's 
triumph  and  the  statesman's  unwilling  submis- 
sion. 

The  story  goes  on  to  tell  how  Doge  Ziani  escorted 
his  two  splendid  guests  to  Ancona,  where  the  Pope 
and  the  emperor  were  presented  with  umprellas — a 
tribute  apparently  made  to  their  exalted  rank; 
whereupon  the  Pope  requested  that  a  third  might 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  77 

be  brought:  "  Manca  la  terzapel  Doge  de  Veiiezia 
chi  ben  lo  rnenta^'"  from  which  incident  arose  the 
use  of  this  royal,  if  u.nimposing,  article  by  the 
doges  ever  after.  The  Pope  had  previously  granted 
the  privilege  of  sealing  with  lead  instead  of  wax — 
another  imperial  attribute.  To  all  this  picturesque 
narrative  Romanin  again  presents  an  array  of  chill- 
ing facts,  proving  that  the  Pope  and  emperor  left 
Venice  singly  on  different  dates,  and  that  the  doges 
of  Venice  had  carried  the  umbrella  and  used  the 
leaden  bollo  long  before  Ziani — all  which  is  very 
disconcerting.  It  seems  to  be  true,  however,  that 
during  the  stay  of  the  Pope  in  Venice  the  feast  of 
the  Sensa — Ascension  Day — was  held  with  special 
solemnity,  and  its  pageant  fully  recorded  for  the 
first  time.  The  doge  went  forth  in  the  Bucintoro, 
which  here  suddenly  springs  into  knowledge,  all 
decorated  and  glorious,  with  his  umbrella  over  his 
head,  a  white  flag  which  the  Pope  had  given  him 
flying  beside  the  standard  of  St.  Mark,  the  silver 
trumpets  sounding,  the  clergy  with  him  and  all  the 
great  potentates  of  the  city,  and  Venice  following, 
small  and  great,  in  every  kind  of  barge  or  skifl: 
which  could  venture  on  the  lagoon.  It  is  said  to 
have  been  with  a  ring  which  the  Pope  had  given 
him  that  old  Ziani  wedded  the  sea.  Whether  the 
ceremony  had  fallen  into  disuse,  or  if  our  chron- 
iclers merely  forgot  that  they  had  assigned  it  to  an 
earlier  date,  or  if  this  was  the  moment  when  the  sim- 
pler primtive  rite  was  changed  into  its  later  form,  it 
is  diflicult  to  say.  It  must  be  added  that  the  strange 
travesty  of  history  thus  put  together  is  regarded 
with  a  certain  doubt  by  the  chroniclers  themselves. 
Sabellico  for  one  falters  over  it.  He  would  not 
have  ventured  to  record  it,  he  says,  if  he  had  not 
found  the  account  confirmed  by  every  writer,  both 
Venetian  and  foreign.  *'And,"  says  Sanudo,  "Is  it 
not  depicted  in  the  hall  of  the  great  council?  Se 
non  fosse  stata  vet  a  i  nostri  buo?it  Venettam  noil  avreb- 
bero  mat  fatta  depingere'' — (if  it  had  not  been  true 


78  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

our   good    Venetians    never    would    have    had    it 
painted). 

It  was  during  the  stormy  reign  of  Vitale  Mich- 
ieli,  in  the  midst  of  the  bitter  and  violent  quarrel 
between  the  Greek  Emperor  Emmanuel  and  the 
Venetians,  when  ambassadors  were  continually- 
coming  and  going,  that  an  outrage,  which  cannot 
be  called  other  than  historical,  and  yet  can  be  sup- 
ported by  no  valid  proof,  is  said  to  have  been  in- 
flicted upon  one  of  the  messengers  of  Venice.  This 
was  the  noble  Arrigo  or  Enrico  Dandola,  after- 
ward one  of  the  most  distinguished  of  the  doges, 
and  the  avenger  of  all  Venetian  wrongs  upon  the 
Greeks.  The  story  is  that  in  the  course  of  some 
supposed  diplomatic  consultation  he  was  seized  and 
had  his  eyes  put  out  by  red-hot  irons — according  to 
a  pleasant  custom  which  the  Greeks  of  that  day  in- 
dulged in  largely.  It  is  unlikely  that  this  could  be 
true,  since  it  is  impossible  to  believe  that  the 
Venetians  would  have  resumed  peaceable  negotia- 
tions after  such  an  outrage ;  but  it  is  a  fact  that 
Dandola  has  always  been  called  the  blind  doge,  and 
even  the  scrupulous  Romanin  finds  reason  to  sup 
pose  that  some  injury  had  been  inflicted  upon  the 
ambassadors.  Dandolo's  blindness,  however,  must 
have  been  only  comparative.  The  French  chron- 
icler Villehardouin  describes  him  as  having  fine 
eyes,  which  scarcely  saw  anything,  and  attributes 
this  to  the  fact  that  he  had  lost  his  sight  from  a 
wound  in  the  head.  Dandolo's  descendant,  suc- 
cessor, and  historian,  however,  says  only  that  he 
was  of  weak  vision,  and  as  he  was  at  the  time 
eighty- four,  there  would  be  nothing  remarkable  in 
that.  Enrico  Dandolo  was  elected  doge  in  1193,  af- 
ter the  death  of  Orio  Mastropietro,  who  succeeded 
Ziani,  and  whose  reign  was  not  marked  b)^  any 
special  incident. 

Dandolo  was  the  first  doge,  if  not  to  sign  the 
promtssioney  or  solemn  ducal  oath  of  fidelity  to  all 
the»laws  and  customs  of   the  republic,  at  least  to 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE/  79 

reach  the  period  of  history  when  such  documents 
began  to  be  preserved.  His  oath  is  full  of  details, 
which  show  the  jealousy  of  the  new  regime  in  de- 
fining and  limiting  the  doge's  powers.  He  vows 
not  only  to  rule  justly,  to  accept  no  bribes,  to  show 
no  favoritism,  to  subordinate  his  own  affairs  and 
all  others  to  the  interests  of  the  city,  but  also  not 
to  write  letters  on  his  own  account  to  the  Pope  or 
any  other  prince ;  to  submit  his  own  affairs  to  the 
arbitrament  of  the  common  tribunals,  and  to  mam- 
tain  two  ships  of  war  at  his  own  expense — stipula- 
tions which  must  have  required  no  small  amount  of 
self-control  on  the  part  of  men  scarcely  as  yet 
educated  to  the  duties  of  constitutional  princes. 
The  beginning  of  Dandolo'sreign  was  distinguished 
by  the  usual  expeditions  to  clear  the  Adriatic  and 
reconfirm  Venetian  supremacy  on  the  Dalmatian 
coast;  also,  by  what  was  beginning  to  be  equally 
common,  certain  conflicts  with  the  Pisans,  who 
began  to  rival  Venice  in  the  empire  of  the  seas. 
These  smaller  commotions,  however,  were  dwarfed 
and  thrown  into  the  shade  by  the  great  expedition, 
known  in  history  as  the  Fourth  Crusade,  which  ended 
in  the  destruction  of  Constantinople  and  the  aggran- 
dizement of  the  republic,  but,  so  far  as  the  objects 
of  the  Crusade  were  concerned,  in  nothing. 

The  setting  out  of  this  expedition  affords  one  of 
the  most  picturesue  and  striking  scenes  in  Vene- 
tian history,  though  its  details  come  to  us  rather 
from  the  chronicles  of  the  Crusade  than  from  the 
ancient  historians  of  Venice,  who  record  them 
briefly  with  a  certain  indifference  and  at  the  same 
time  with  a  frankness  which  sounds  cynical.  Per- 
haps the  conviction  of  a  later  age,  that  the  part 
played  by  Venice  was  not  a  very  noble  one,  may 
have  here  restrained  the  record.  "In  those  days  a 
great  occasion  presented  itself  to  the  Venetians  to 
increase  their  dominions,"  Sabellico  says,  calmly 
putting  aside  all  pretense  at  more  generous  motives. 
Villehardouin,  however,  has  left  a  succession  of  pic- 


80  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

tures  which  could  not  be  surpassed  in  graphic  force, 
and  which  place  all  the  preliminaries  before  us  in 
the  most  brilliant  daylight.  He  describes  how  the 
French  princes  who  had  taken  the  cross  sent  an 
embassy  to  Venice  in  order  to  arrange,  if  possible, 
for  means  of  transport  to  the  Holy  Land — six  noble 
Frenchmen,  in  all  their  bravery  and  fine  manners, 
and  fortunately  with  that  one  among  them  who 
carried  a  pen  as  well  as  a  sword.  It  is  evident  that 
this  proposal  was  considered  on  either  side  as  highly 
important  and  as  far  from  being  made  or  received 
as  merely  a  matter  of  business.  The  French  mes- 
sengers threw  themselves  at  once  upon  the  gener- 
osity, the  Christian  feeling,  of  the  masters  of  the 
sea.  Money  and  men  they  had  in  plenty ;  but  only 
Venice,  so  powerful  on  the  seas,  so  rich,  and  at 
peace  with  all  her  neighbors,  could  give  them 
ships.  From  the  beginning  their  application  is  an 
entreaty,  and  their  prayers  supported  by  every 
argument  that  earnestness  could  suggest.  The 
doge  rceived  them  in  the  same  solemn  manner,  sub- 
mitting their  petition  to  the  council,  and  requiring 
again  and  again  certain  days  of  delay  in  order  that 
the  matter  should  be  fully  debated.  It  was  at  last 
settled  with  royal  magnificence  not  only  that  the 
ships  should  be  granted,  but  that  the  republic 
should  fit  out  fifty  galleys  of  her  own  to  increase 
the  force  of  the  expedition ;  after  which,  everything 
being  settled  (which  again  throws  a  curious  side- 
light upon  popular  government),  the  doge  called 
the  Venetians  together  in  San  Marco — ten  thousand 
of  them  in  the  most  beautiful  church  that  ever  was, 
says  the  Frenchman — and  bade  the  strangers  plead 
their  own  cause  before  the  people.  When  we  con- 
sider that  everything  was  arranged  beforehand,  it 
takes  something  from  the  effect  of  the  scene  and 
suggests  uncomfortable  ideas  of  solemn  deceits 
practiced  upon  the  populace  in  all  such  circum- 
stances— but  in  itself  the  picture  is  magnificent. 
Mass  being  celebrated,  the  doge  called  the  am- 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  81 

bassadors,  and  told  them  to  ask  humbly  of  the 
people  whether  the  proposed  arrangem.ent  should 
be  carried  into  effect.  Godfrey  de  Villehardouin 
then  stood  forth  to  speak  in  the  name  of  all,  with 
the  following  result : 

"Messieurs,  the  noblest  and  most  powerful  barons  of  France 
have  sent  us  to  you,  to  pray  you  to  have  pity  upon  Jerusalem 
in  bondage  to  the  Turk,  and  for  the  love  of  God  to  accompany 
us  to  avenge  the  shame  of  Christ ;  and  knowing  that  no  nation 
is  so  powerful  on  the  sea  as  you,  they"  have  charged  us  to  im- 
plore your  aid  and  not  to  rise  from  our  knees,  till  you  have 
consented  to  have  pity  upon  the  Holy  Land." 

With  this  the  six  ambassadors  knelt  down,  weeping.  The 
doge  and  all  the  people  then  cried  out  with  one  voice,  raising 
their  hands  to  heaven,  "We  grant  it,  we  grant  it!"  And  so 
great  was  the  sound  that  nothing  ever  equaled  it.  The  good 
doge  of  Venice,  who  was  most  wise  and  brave,  then  ascended 
the  pulpit  and  spoke  to  the  people.  Signori,"  he  said,  you 
see  the  honor  that  God  has  done  you,  that  the  greatest 
nation  on  earth  has  left  all  other  peoples  in  order  to  ask  your 
company,  that  you  should  share  with  them  this  great  under- 
taking which  is  the  reconquest  of  Jerusalem."  Many  other 
fine  and  wise  things  were  said  by  the  doge  which  I  cannot 
here  recount.     And  thus  the  matter  was  concluded." 

It  must  have  been  a  strange  and  imposing  sight 
for  these  feudal  lords  to  see  the  crowd  that  filled 
San  Marco,  and  overflowed  in  the  Piazza,  the  vast 
trading,  seafaring  multitude  tanned  with  the  sun- 
shine and  the  sea,  full  of  their  own  importance,  list- 
ening like  men  who  had  to  do  it,  no  submissive 
crowd  of  vassals,  but  each  conscious,  though,  as  we 
have  seen,  with  but  little  reason,  that  he  individ- 
ually was  appealed  to,  while  those  splendid  peti- 
tioners knelt  and  wept — moved,  no  doubt,  on  their 
side  by  that  wonderful  sea  of  faces,  by  the  strange 
cirumstances,  and  the  rising  wave  of  enthusiasm 
which  began  to  move  the  crowd.  The  old  doge, 
rising  up  in  the  pulpit,  looking  with  dim  eyes 
across  the  heads  of  the  multitude,  with  the  great 
clamor  of  the  "' Concedtomo"  still  echoing  under  the 
dome,  the  shout  of  an  enthusiastic  nation,  gives  the 
last  touch  ot  pictorial  effect.     His  eyes  still  glowed, 

6  Venice 


82  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

though  there  was  so  little  vision  in  them;  pride  and 
policy  and  religious  enthusiasm  all  mingled  in  his 
words  and  looks.  The  greatest  nation  of  the  world 
had  come  as  a  suppliant — who  could  refuse  her 
petition?  This  was  in  the  winter,  early  in  the  year 
I20I.  It  is  not  difficult  to  imagine  the  wintry 
afternoon,  the  dim  glories  of  the  choir  going  off 
into  a  golden  gloom  behind,  the  light  glimmering 
upon  the  altars,  the  confused  movement  and  emo- 
tion of  the  countless  crowd,  indistinct  under  the 
great  arches,  extending  into  every  corner — while 
all  the  light  there  was  concentrated  in  the  white 
hair  and  cloth  of  gold  of  the  venerable  figure  to 
which  every  eye  was  turned,  standing  up  against 
the  screen  at  the  foot  of  the  great  cross. 

The  republic  by  this  bargain  was  pledged  to  pro- 
vide transport  for  four  thousand  five  hundred  cava- 
liers, and  nearly  thirty  thousand  men  on  foot ;  along 
with  provisions  for  a  year  for  this  multitude;  for 
which  the  Frenchmen  pledged  themselves  to  pay 
eighty-five  thousand  silver  marks  "according  to  the 
weight  of  Cologne,"  in  four  different  installments. 
The  contingent  of  Venice,  apart  from  this,  was  to 
consist  of  fifty  galleys.  The  ships  were  to  be  ready 
at  the  feast  of  SS.  Peter  and  Paul  in  the  same  year, 
when  the  first  installment  of  the  money  was  to  be 
paid. 

In  the  meantime,  however,  while  the  workmen 
in  the  arsenal  were  busily  at  work,  and  trade  must 
have  quickened  throughout  Venice,  various  misfor- 
tunes happened  to  the  other  parties  to  the  engage- 
ment. Young  Thibaut  of  Champagne  died  in  the 
flower  of  his  youth,  and  many  small  parties  of 
Crusaders  went  off  from  other  quarters  in  other  ves- 
sels than  those  of  Venice ;  so  that  when  at  last  the 
expedition  arrived  it  was  considerably  diminished  in 
numbers,  and,  what  was  still  more  disastrous,  the 
leaders  found  themselves  unable  to  pay  the  first 
installment  of  the  appointed  price.  The  knights 
denuded  themselves  of  all  their  valuables,  but  this 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  83 

was  still  insufficient.  In  these  circumstances  an 
arrangement  was  resorted  to  which  produced  many 
and  great  complications,  and  changed  altogether 
the  character  of  the  expedition.  Venice  has  been 
in  consequence  reproached  with  the  worldliness  and 
selfishness  of  her  intentions.  It  has  been  made  to 
appear  that  her  religious  fervor  was  altogether 
false,  and  her  desire  to  push  her  own  interests  her 
sole  motive.  No  one  will  attempt  to  deny  that  this 
kind  of  selfishness,  which  in  other  words  is  often 
called  patriotism,  was  very  strong  in  her.  But  on 
the  other  side  it  would  be  hard  to  say  that  it  was 
with  any  far-seeing  plan  of  self-aggrandizement  that 
the  republic  began  this  great  campaign,  or^that  Dan- 
dolo  and  his  counselors  perceived  how  far  they 
should  go  before  their  enterprise  was  brought  to  an 
end.  They  were  led  on  from  point  to  point  like 
those  whom  they  influenced,  and  were  themselves 
betrayed  by  circumstance  and  a  crowd  of  secondary 
motives,  as  well  as  the  allies  whom  they  are  be- 
lieved to  have  betrayed. 

The  arrangement  proposed  was,  since  the  Cru- 
saders could  not  pay  the  price  agreed  for  their  ships, 
that  they  should  delay  their  voyage  to  the  Holy 
Land  long  enough  to  help  the  Venetians  in  sub- 
duing Zara,  which  turbulent  city  had  again,  as  on 
every  possible  occasion,  rebelled.  The  greater  part 
of  the  Frenchmen  accepted  the  proposal  with  alac- 
rity; though  some  objected  that  to  turn  their  arms 
against  Christians,  however  rebellious,  was  not  the 
object  of  the  soldiers  of  the  cross.  In  the  long  run, 
however,  and  notwithstanding  the  remonstrances  of 
Pope  Innocent,  of  which  the  independent  Venetians 
made  light,  the  bargain  was  accepted  on  all  hands, 
and  all  the  preliminaries  concluded  at  last.  An- 
other of  the  wonderful  scenic  displays  with  which 
almost  every  important  step  was  accompanied  *n 
Venice  took  place  before  the  final  start. 


84  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

One  day,  upon  a  Sunday,  all  the  peoj  le  of  the  city,  and  the 
greater  part  of  the  barons  and  pilgrims,  met  in  San  Marco. 
Before  Mass  began  the  doge  rose  in  the  pulpit  and  spoke  to 
the  people  in  this  manner:  "Signori,  you  are  associated  with 
the  greatest  nation  in  the  world  in  the  most  important  matter 
which  can  be  undertaken  by  men.  I  am  old  and  weak  and 
need  rest,  having  many  troubles  in  the  body,  but  I  perceive 
that  none  can  so  well  guide  and  govern  you  as  I  who  am  vour 
lord.  If  you  will  consent  that  I  shouli  take  the  sign  of  the 
cross  to  care  for  you  and  direct  you,  and  that  my  son  should 
in  my  stead  regulate  the  affairs  of  the  city,  I  will  go  to  live 
and  die  with  you  and  the  pilgrims." 

When  they  heard  this,  they  cried  with  one  voice,  "Yes!  we 
pray  you,  in  the  name  of  God,  take  it  and  come  with  us." 

Then  the  people  of  the  country  and  the  pilgrims  were 
greatly  moved  and  shed  many  tears,  because  this  heroic  man 
had  so  many  reasons  for  remaining  at  home,  being  old.  But 
he  was  strong  and  of  a  great  heart.  He  then  descended  from 
the  pulpit  and  knelt  before  the  altar,  weeping,  and  the  cross 
was  sewn  upon  the  front  of  his  great  cap,  so  that  all  might  see 
it.  And  the  Venetians  that  day  in  great  numbers  took  the 
cross. 

It  was  in  October,  1202,  that  the  expedition  fin- 
ally sailed,  a  great  fleet  of  nearly  three  hundred 
ships;  the  Frenchmen  in  their  shining  mail  with 
their  great  warhorses  furnishing  a  wonderful  spec- 
tacle for  the  Venetians,  to  whom  these  noble  creat- 
ures, led  unwillingly  on  board  the  galleys,  were  so 
little  familiar.  The  whole  city  watched  the  em- 
barkation with  excitement  and  high  commotion ;  no 
doubt  with  many  a  woman's  tears  and  wistful  looks, 
anguish  of  the  old,  and  more  impassioned  grief  of 
the  young,  as  the  fifty  galleys  which  contained  the 
Venetian  contingent  slowly  filled  with  all  the  best 
in  the  republic,  the  old  doge  at  their  head.  Bound 
for  the  Holy  Land,  to  deliver  it  from  the  infidel! 
That,  no  doubt,  was  what  the  people  believed  who 
had  granted  with  acclamation  their  aid  to  the  bar- 
ons in  San  Marco.  And  to  watch  the  great  fleet 
which  streamed  along,  with  all  its  sails,  against  the 
sunshine  through  the  tortuous,  narrow  channels 
that  thread  the  lagoon;  line  after  line  of  high- 
beaked  painted  galleys,  with  their  endless  oars,  and 
all  their  bravery;  it  must  have  seemed  as  if  the 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  85 

very  sea  had  become  populous,  and  such  a  host 
must  carry  all  before  if.  Days  must  have  passed 
in  bustle  and  commotion  ere,  with  the  rude  appli- 
ances of  their  time,  three  hundred  vessels  could 
have  been  got  under  way.  They  streamed  down 
the  Adriatic,  a  maritime  army  rather  than  a  fleet, 
imposing  to  behold;  frightening  the  turbulent 
towns  along  the  coast  which  were  so  ready,  when 
the  Venetian  galleys  were  out  of  sight,  to  rebel — 
and  arrived  before  Zara  in  crushing  strength.  The 
citizens  closed  the  harbor  with  a  chain,  and  with  a 
garrison  of  Hungarians  to  help  them,  made  a  brave 
attempt  to  defend  themselves.  But  against  such 
an  overwhelming  fore  their  efforts  were  in  vain, 
and  after  a  resistance  of  five  days  the  city  surren- 
dered. It  was  by  this  time  the  middle  of  Novem- 
ber, and  to  tempt  the  wintry  sea  at  that  season  was 
contrary  to  the  habits  of  the  time.  The  expedi- 
tion accordingly  remained  at  Zara,  where  many 
things  took  place  which  decided  the  course  of  its 
after  movements.  It  was  not  a  peaceful  pause. 
The  French  and  the  Venetians  quarreled  in  the  first 
place  over  their  booty  or  their  privileges  in  the 
sacked  and  miserable  city.  When  that  uproar  was 
calmed,  which  took  the  leaders  some  time,  another 
trouble  arrived  in  the  shape  of  a  letter  from  Pope 
Innocent,  which  disturbed  the  French  chiefs 
greatly,  though  the  old  doge  and  his  counsellors 
paid  but  little  attention.  Innocent  called  the 
Crusaders  to  account  for  shedding  Christian  blood 
when  they  ought  to  have  been  shedding  pagan,  and 
for  sacking  a  city  which  belonged  to  their  brethren 
in  the  faith,  to  whom  he  commanded  them  to  make 
restitution  and  reparation.  Whether  the  penitent 
barons  gave  up  their  share  of  the  booty  is  not  told 
us,  but  they  wrote  humble  letters  asking  pardon,  and 
declaring  that  to  take  Zara  was  a  necessity  which 
they  had  no  power  to  resist.  The  Pope  was  moved 
by  their  submission,  but  commanded  them  to  pro- 
ceed to  Syria  with  all  possible  speed,  *' neither  turn- 


86  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

ing  to  the  right  hand  nor  to  the  left, ' '  and  as  soon 
as  they  had  disembarked  on  the  Syrian  shores  to 
separate  themselves  from  the  Venetians,  who  seem 
to  have  been  excommunicated  (which  did  not 
greatly  disturb  them)  for  their  indifference  to  the 
papal  commands. 

This  correspondence  with  Rome  must  have  given 
a  certain  amount  of  variety,  if  not  of  a  very  agree- 
ably kind,  to  the  winter  sojourn  on  the  Adriatic, 
confused  with  tumults  of  the  soldiery  and  incessant 
alarms  lest  their  quarrels  should  break  out  afresh ; 
quarrels  which — carried  on  in  the  midst  of  a  hostile 
people  bitterly  rejoicing  to  see  their  conquerors  at 
enmity  among  themselves,  and  encouraged  by  the 
knowledge  that  the  Pope  had  interfered  on  their 
behalf — must  have  made  the  invaders  doubly  un- 
comfortable. From  the  Venetian  side  there  is  not 
a  word  of  excommunication  leveled  against  them- 
selves, and  generally  so  terrible  a  weapon.  Such 
punishments  perhaps  were  more  easily  borne 
abroad  than  at  home,  and  the  republic  already 
stoutly  held  its  independence  from  all  external  in- 
terference. 

While  Pope  Innocent's  letters  were  thus  occupy- 
ing all  minds,  and  the  French  Crusaders  chafing  at 
the  delay,  and  perhaps  also  at  the  absence  of  all  ex- 
citement and  occupation  in  the  Dalmatian  town, 
another  incident  occurred  of  the  most  picturesque 
character,  as  well  as  of  the  protoundest  importance. 
This  was — first,  the  arrival  of  ambassadors  from  the 
Emperor  Philip  of  Swabia  with  letters  recommend- 
ing the  young  Alexius,  the  son  of  Isaac,  dethroned 
Emperor  of  the  Greeks,  to  the  Crusaders,  and  se- 
condly that  young  prince  himself,  an  exile  and  wan- 
derer, with  all  the  recommendations  of  injured  help- 
lessness and  youth  in  his  favor.  The  ambassadors 
brought  letters  telling  such  a  story  as  was  most  fit 
to  move  the  chivalrous  leaders  of  the  Christian  host. 
The  youth  for  whom  their  appeal  was  made  was  the 
true  heir  of  the  great  house  of  Comnenus,  born  in 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  87 

the  purple ;  a  young  Hamlet  whose  father  had  been, 
not  killed,  but  overthrown,  blinded,  and  imprisoned 
by  his  own  brother,  and  now  lay  miserable  in  a 
dungeon  at  Constantinople  while  the  usurper 
reigned  in  his  stead.  What  tale  so  likely  to  move 
the  pity  of  the  knights  and  barons  of  France? 
And,  the  suppliants  added,  what  enterprise  so  fit  to 
promote  and  facilitate  the  object  of  the  Crusaders? 
For  Constantinople  had  always  been  a  difficulty  in 
the  way  of  the  conquest  of  Syria,  and  now  more 
than  ever,  when  a  false  and  cruel  usurper  was  on 
the  throne :  whereas,  if  old  Isaac  and  his  young  son 
were  restored,  the  Crusaders  would  secure  a  firm 
tooting,  a  stronghold  of  moral  as  well  as  physical 
support  in  the  East,  which  would  make  their  work 
easy.  One  can  imagine  the  high  excitement,  the 
keen  discussions,  the  eagerness  of  some,  the  reluct- 
ance of  others,  the  heat  of  debate  and  diverse 
opinion  which  arose  in  the  camp.  There  were  some 
among  the  pilgrims  upon  whom  the  Pope's  dis- 
approval lay  heavy,  and  who  longed  for  nothing  so 
much  as  to  get  away,  to  have  the  wearisome  prelimi- 
naries of  the  voyage  over,  and  to  find  themselves 
upon  the  holy  soil  which  they  had  set  out  to  deliver; 
while  there  were  some,  perhaps  more  generous  than 
devout,  to  whom  the  story  of  the  poor  young  pnnce, 
errant  through  the  world  in  search  of  succor,  and  the 
blind  imperial  prisoner  in  the  dungeon,  was  touching 
beyond  description,  calling  forth  every  sentiment  of 
knighthood.  The  Venetians  had  still  another  most 
moving  motive;  it  seems  scarcely  possible  to  be- 
lieve that  they  did  not  at  once  perceive  the  immense 
and  incalculable  interests  involved.  They  were 
men  of  strictly  practical  vision,  and  Constantinople 
was  their  market-place  at  once  and  their  harvest 
ground.  To  establish  a  permanent  footing  there 
by  all  the  laws  of  honor  and  gratitude — what  a 
thing  for  Venice!  It  is  not  necessary  to  conclude 
that  they  were  untouched  by  other  inducements. 
They,    better    than    any,  knew    how  many   hin- 


88  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE, 

drances  Constantinople  could  throw  in  the  way; 
how  treacherous  her  support  was;  how  cunning  her 
enmity,  and  what  an  advantage  it  would  be  to  all 
future  enterprises  if  a  power  bound  to  the  west  by 
solid  obligations  could  be  established  on  the  Bos- 
phorus.  Nor  is  it  to  be  supposed  that  as  men  they 
were  inaccessible  to  the  pleas  of  humanity  and 
justice  urged  by  Philip.  But  at  the  same  time  the 
dazzle  of  the  extraordinary  advantages  thus  set  be- 
fore themselves  must  have  been  as  a  glamour  in 
their  eyes. 

It  was  while  the  whole  immense,  tumultuous 
band,  the  Frenchmen  and  knights  of  Flanders,  the 
barons  of  the  Low  Country,  the  sailor  princes  of  the 
republic,  were  in  full  agitation  over  this  momentous 
question,  and  all  was  uncertainty  and  confusion, 
that  the  young  Alexius  arrived  at  Zara.  There  was 
a  momentary  lull  in  the  agitation  to  receive  as  was 
his  due  this  imperial  wanderer,  so  young,  so  high- 
born, so  unfortunate.  The  Marquis  of  Montserrato 
was  his  near  kinsman,  his  rank  was  undoubted,  and 
his  misfortunes,  the  highest  claim  of  all,  were 
known  to  every  one.  The  troops  were  turned  out 
to  receive  him  with  all  the  pomp  of  military  display, 
the  doge's  silver  trumpets  sounding,  and  all  that 
the  Crusaders  could  boast  of  in  music  and  magnifi- 
cence. The  monks,  who  had  been  pressing  hotly 
from  band  to  band,  urging  Pope  Innocent's  com- 
mands and  the  woes  of  Jerusalem;  the  warlike 
leaders,  who  had  been  anxiously  attempting  to 
reconcile  their  declared  purpose  with  the  strong 
temptations  of  such  chivalrous  undertaking — all  for 
the  moment  arrested  their  arguments,  their  self- 
reasonings,  their  mutual  upbraidings,  to  hear  what 
their  young  guest  had  to  say.  And  Alexius  had 
everything  to  say  that  extreme  necessity  could  sug- 
gest. He  would  give  subsidies  unlimited — two  hun- 
dred thousand  marks  of  silver,  all  the  costs  of  the 
expedition,  as  much  as  it  pleased  them  to  require. 
He  would  himself   accompany  the   expedition,    he 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  89 

would  furnish  two  thousand  men  at  once,  and  for  all 
his  life  maintain  five  liundred  knights  for  the  de- 
fense of  Jerusalem.  Last  of  all,  and  greatest,  he 
vowed — a  bait  for  Innocent  himself,  an  inducement 
which  must  have  stopped  the  words  of  remon- 
strance on  the  lips  of  the  priests  and  made  their 
eyes  glow — to  renounce  forever  the  Greek  heresy 
and  bring  the  Eastern  Church  to  the  supremacy  at 
Rome ! 

Whether  it  was  this  last  motive,  or  simply  a  rush 
of  sudden  enthusiasm,  such  as  was,  and  still  is,  apt 
to  seize  upon  a  multitude,  the  scruples  and  the 
doubts  of  the  Crusaders  melted  like  wax  before  the 
arguments  of  the  young  prince,  and  his  cause  seems 
to  have  been  taken  up  by  general  consent.  A  few 
pilgrims  of  note  indeed  left  the  expedition  and 
attempted  to  find  another  way  to  the  Holy  Land, 
but  it  was  with  very  slightly  diminished  numbers 
that  the  expedition  set  sail  in  April,  1203,  for  Con- 
stantinople. Zara  celebrated  their  departure  by  an 
immediate  rising,  once  more  asserting  its  independ- 
ence, and  necessitating  a  new  expedition  sent  by 
Renier  Dandolo,  the  doge's  son  and  deputy,  to  do 
all  the  work  of  subjugation  over  again.  But  that 
was  an  occurrence  of  every  day. 

The  Crusaders  went  to  Corfu  first,  where  they 
were  received  with  acclamation,  the  islanders  offer- 
ing at  once  their  homage  to  Alexius;  and  lingered 
thereabouts  until  the  eve  of  Pentecost,  when  they 
set  sail  directly  for  Constantinople.  Over  these 
summer  seas  the  crowd  of  ships  made  their  way  with 
ensigns  waving  and  lances  glittering  in  the  sun,  like 
an  army  afloat,  as  indeed  they  were,  making  the  air 
resound  with  their  trumpets  and  warlike  songs. 
The  lovely  islands,  the  tranquil  waters,  the  golden 
shores,  filled  these  northmen  with  enthusiasm — 
nothing  so  beautiful,  so  luxuriant,  so  wealthy  and 
fair,  had  ever  been  seen.  Where  was  the  coward 
who  would  not  dare  to  strike  a  blow  for  such  a 
land?    The  islands,  as  they  passed,  received  Ale^c- 


9a  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

ius  with  joy;  all  was  festal  and  splendid  in  the  ad- 
vance. It  was  the  24th  of  June,  the  full  glory  of 
midsummer,  when  the  fleet  passed  close  under  the 
walls  of  Constantinople.  We  need  not  enter  into  a 
detailed  description  of  the  siege.  The  Venetians 
would  seem  to  have  carried  off  the  honors  of  the 
day.  The  French  soldiers  having  failed  in  their 
first  assault  by  land,  the  Venetians,  linking  a  num- 
ber of  galleys  together  by  ropes,  ran  them  ashore, 
and  seem  to  have  gained  possession,  almost  without 
pausing  to  draw  breath,  of  a  portion  of  the  city. 
We  will  quote  from  Gibbon,  whose  classical  splen- 
dor of  style  is  so  different  from  the  graphic  simpli- 
city of  our  chroniclers,  a  description  of  this  extraor- 
dinary attack.  He  is  not  a  historian  generally 
favorable  to  the  Venetians,  so  that  his  testimony 
may  be  taken  as  an  impatrial  one. 

On  the  side  of  the  harbor  the  attack  was  more  successfully 
conducted  by  the  Venetians;  and  that  industrious  people 
employed  every  resource  that  was  known  and  practiced  before 
the  invention  of  gunpowder.  A  double  line,  three  bowshots 
in  front,  was  formed  by  the  galleys  and  ships ;  and  the  swift 
motion  of  the  former  was  supported  by  the  weight  and  lofti- 
ness of  the  latter,  whose  decks  and  poops  and  turrets  were  the 
platforms  of  military  engines  that  discharged  their  shot  over 
the  heads  of  the  first  line.  The  soldiers  who  leaped  from  the 
galleys  on  shore  immediately  planted  and  ascended  their  scal- 
ing ladders,  while  the  large  ships,  advancing  more  slowly  into 
the  intervals  and  lowering  a  drawbridge,  opened  a  way  through 
the  air  from  their  masts  to  the  rampart.  In  the  midst  of  the 
conflict  the  doge's  venerable  and  conspicuous  form  stood 
aloft  in  complete  armor  on  the  prow  of  his  galley.  The  great 
standard  of  St.  Mark  was  displayed  before  him;  his  threats, 
promises,  and  exhortations  urged  the  diligence  of  the  rowers ; 
his  vessel  was  the  first  that  struck ;  and  Dandolo  was  the 
first  warrior  on  shore.  The  nations  admired  the  magnanimity 
of  the  blind  old  man,  without  reflecting  that  his  age  and  in- 
firmities diminished  the  price  of  life  and  enhanced  the  value 
of  immortal  glory.  On  a  sudden,  by  an  invisible  hand  ,'for 
the  standard  bearer  was  probably  slain),  the  banner  of  the 
republic  was  fixed  on  the  rampart,  twenty-five  towers  were 
rapidly  occupied,  and,  by  the  cruel  expedient  of  fire,  the 
(Jreeks  were  drawn  from  the  adjacent  quarter. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  91 

A  finer  battle-picture  than  this — of  the  galleys 
fiercely  driven  in  shore,  the  aged  prince  high  on  the 
prow,  the  Venetians  rushing  on  the  dizzy  bridge 
from  the  rigging  to  the  ramparts,  and  suddenly, 
miraculously,  the  lion  of  St.  Mark  unfolding  in  the 
darkened  air  full  of  smoke  and  fire,  and  bristling 
showers  of  arrows — could  scarcely  be.  The  chron- 
iclers of  Venice  saw  nothing  of  it  all.  For  once 
they  fail  to  see  the  pictorial  effect,  the  force  of  the 
dramatic  situation.  Andrea  Dandolo's  moderate 
description  of  his  ancestor's  great  deed  is  all  we 
have  to  replace  the  glowing  narrative  in  which  the 
Venetians  have  recorded  other  facts  in  their  history. 
"While  they  [the  French]  were,"  he  says,  ** pressed 
hard,  on  account  of  their  small  numbers,  the  doge 
with  the  Venetians  burst  into  the  city,  and  he, 
though  old  and  infirm  of  vision,  yet  being  brave 
and  eager  of  spirit,  joined  himself  to  the  French 
warriors,  and  all  of  them  together,  fighting  with 
great  bravery,  their  strength  reviving  and  their 
courage  rising,  forced  the  enemy  to  retire,  and  at 
last,  the  Greeks  yielding  on  every  side,  the  city 
was  taken." 

The  results  of  the  victory  were  decisive,  if  not 
lasting.  The  old  blind  emperor  Isaac  was  taken 
from  his  dungeon — his  usurping  brother  having 
fled — and  replaced  upon  his  throne;  and  the  young 
wanderer  Alexius,  the  favorite  and  plaything  of  the 
Crusading  nobles,  the  fanciullo,  as  the  Venetians 
persist  in  calling  him,  was  crowned  in  St.  Sopliia 
as  his  father's  coadjutor  with  great  pomp  and  rejoic- 
ing. But  this  moment  of  glory  was  short-lived.  As 
soon  as  the  work  was  done,  when  there  began  to 
be  talk  of  the  payment,  and  of  all  the  wonderful 
things  which  had  been  promised,  these  brilliant 
skies  were  clouded  over.  It  appeared  that  Alexius 
had  neither  authority  to  make  such  promises  nor 
any  power  of  fulfilling  them.  Not  even  the  money 
could  be  paid  without  provoking  new  rebellions; 
and  as  for  placing  the  Greek   Church   under  th^ 


92  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

power  of  Rome,  that  was  more  than  any  emperor 
could  do.  Nor  was  this  all;  tor  it  very  soon  ap- 
peared that  the  throne  set  up  by  foreign  arms  was 
anything-  but  secure.  The  Crusaders,  who  had 
intended  to  push  on  at  once  to  their  destination, 
the  Holy  Land,  were  again  arrested,  partly  by  a 
desire  to  secure  the  recompense  promised  for  their 
exertions,  partly  because  the  young  prince,  whom 
his  own  countrymen  disliked  for  his  close  alliance 
with  the  strangers,  implored  them  to  remain  till 
his  throne  should  be  more  firmly  established.  But 
that  throne  was  not  worth  a  year's  purchase  to  its 
young  and  unfortunate  tenant.  Notwithstanding 
the  great  camp  of  the  invaders  at  Galata,  and  the 
Venetian  galleys  in  the  Bosphorous,  another  sudden 
revolution  undid  everything  that  had  been  done. 
The  first  assault  had  been  made  in  June,  1203.  So 
early  as  March  of  the  next  year,  the  barons  and  the 
doge  were  taking  grim  counsel  together  as  to  what 
was  to  be  done  with  the  spoil — such  spoil  as  was 
not  to  be  found  in  any  town  in  Europe — when  they 
should  have  seized  the  city,  in  which  young  Alexius 
lay  murdered,  and  his  old  father  dead  of  misery 
and  grief. 

The  second  siege  was  longer  and  more  difficult 
than  the  first,  for  the  new  emperor,  Marzoufle,  he 
of  the  shaggy  eyebrows,  was  bolder  and  more  de- 
termined than  the  former  usurper.  But  at  last  the 
unhappy  city  was  taken,  and  sacked  with  every  cir- 
cumstance of  horror  that  belongs  to  such  an  event. 
The  chivalrous  Crusaders,  the  brave  Venetians,  the 
best  men  of  their  age,  either  did  not  think  it  neces- 
sary, or  were  unable  to  restrain  the  lowest  instincts 
of  an  excited  army.  And  what  was  terrible  every- 
where was  worse  in  Constantinople,  the  richest  of 
all  existing  cities,  full  of  everything  that  was  most 
exquisite  in  art  and  able  in  invention.  '*The  Vene- 
tians only,  who  were  of  gentler  soul,"  says  Ro- 
manin,  *'took  thought  for  the  preservation  of  those 
jnarvelous  works  of  human   genius,    transporting 


tHE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  93 

them  afterward  to  Venice,  as  they  did  the  tour 
famous  horses  which  now  stand  on  the  facade  of  the 
great  Basilica,  along  with  many  columns,  jewels, 
and  precious  stones,  with  which  they  decorated  the 
Pala  d'  oro  diVid.  the  treasury  of  San  Marco."  This 
proof  of  gentler  soul  was  equally  demonstrated  by 
Napoleon  when  he  carried  off  those  same  bronze 
horses  to  Paris  in  the  beginning  of  the  century,  but 
it  was  not  appreciated  either  by  Italy  or  the  world. 
Altogether  this  chapter  in  the  history  of  the  Vene- 
tian armaments,  as  in  that  of  the  Crusaders  and 
Western  Christendom  in  general,  is  a  terrible  and 
painful  one.  The  pilgrims  had  got  into  a  false  and ' 
miserable  vortex,  from  which  they  could  not  clear 
their  feet.  All  that  followed  is  like  some  feverish 
and  horrible  dream,  through  which  the  wild  at- 
tempts to  bring  some  kind  of  order,  and  to  establish 
a  new  rule,  and  to  convince  themselves  that  they 
were  doing  right  and  not  wrong,  make  the  ruinous 
complications  only  more  apparent.  During  the 
whole  period  of  their  lingering,  ot  their  besieging, 
of  their  elections  of  Latin  emperors  and  arch- 
bishops,— futile  and  short-lived  attempts  to  make 
something  ot  their  conquest, — letters  from  Pope 
Innocent  were  raining  upon  them,  full  of  indignant 
remonstrances,  appeals,  and  reproaches;  and  little 
groups  of  knights  were  wandering  off  toward  their 
proper  destination  sick  at  heart,  while  the  rest 
appointed  themselves  lords  and  suzerains,  marshals 
and  constables  of  a  country  which  they  neither  un- 
derstood nor  could  rule. 

In  less  than  a  year  there  followed  the  disastrous 
defeat  of  Adrianople,  in  which  the  ranks  of  the 
Crusaders  were  broken,  and  the  unfortunate  newly 
elected  emperor,  Baldwin,  disappeared,  and  was 
heard  of  no  more.  The  old  doge,  Enrico  Dandolo, 
died  shortly  after,  having  both  in  success  and  defeat 
performed  prodigies  of  valor,  which  his  great  age 
(ninety-seven,  according  to  the  chroniclers)  makes 
almost  incredible,  and  keeping  to  the  last  a  keen 


94  THE  MAKERS  OF  VEl^ICfi. 

eye  upon  the  interests  of  Venice,  which  alone  were 
forwarded  by  all  that  had  happened.  But  he  never 
saw  Venice  again.  He  died  in  June,  1205, — two 
years  after  the  first  attack  upon  Constantinople, 
three  years  after  his  departure  from  Venice, — and 
was  buried  in  St.  Sophia.  Notwithstanding  the 
royal  honors  that  we  are  told  attended  his  funeral, 
one  cannot  but  feel  that  the  dim  eyes  of  the  old 
warrior  must  have  turned  with  longing  to  the  rest 
that  ought  to  have  been  his  in  his  own  San  Marco, 
and  that  there  must  have  echoed  in  his  aged  heart 
something  of  a  pang  that  went  through  that  of  a 
later  pilgrim  whose  last  fear  it  was  that  he  should 
lay  his  bones  far  from  the  Tweed. 

We  read,  with  a  keen  perception  of  the  rapidity 
with  which  comedy  dogs  the  steps  of  tragedy  every- 
where, that  one  Marino  Zeno,  hastily  appointed  after 
Dandolo  as  the  head  of  the  Venetians,  assumed  at 
once  as  marks  of  his  dignity  *'a  rose-colored  silk 
stocking  on  his  right  foot  and  a  white  silk  stocking 
on  his  left,  along  with  the  imperial  boots  and 
purse."  This  was  one  outcome  of  all  the  blood  and 
misery,  the  dethronements,  the  sack,  the  general 
ruin.  The  doges  of  Venice  added  another  to  their 
long  list  of  titles — they  were  now  lords  of  Croatia, 
Dalmatia,  and  of  the  fourth  part  and  the  half  of 
the  Roman  (or  Romanian)  empire.  Domt?ius  qtiartcB 
partis  cum  dimidio  totiuslmperi  Romanice.  And  all 
the  Isles,  those  dangerous  and  vexatious  little  com- 
munities that  had  been  wont  to  harbor  pirates  and 
interrupt  traders,  fell  really  or  nominally  into  the 
hands  of  Venice.  They  were  a  troublesome  posses- 
sion, constantly  in  rebellion,  difficult  10  secure,  still 
more  difficult  to  keep,  as  the  Venetian  conquest  in 
Dalmatia  had  already  proved;  but  they  were  no 
less  splendid  possessions.  Candia  alone  was  a  jewel 
for  any  emperor.  The  republic  could  not  hold 
these  islands,  putting  garrisons  into  them  at  her 
own  expense  and  risk.  She  took  the  wiser  way  of 
granting   them  to  colonists  on  a  feudal  tenure,  so 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENIC£.  9S 

that  any  noble  Venetian  who  had  the  courage  and 
the  means  might  set  himself  up  with  a  little  sea- 
borne principality  in  due  subjection  to  his  native 
state,  but  with  the  privilege  of  hunting  out  its 
pirates  and  subduing  its  rebellions  for  himself. 
"To  divide,"  says  Sabellico,  "the  public  forces  of 
Venice  into  so  many  parts  would  have  been  very 
unsafe.  The  bes  t  thing,  therefore,  seemed  that 
those  who  were  rich  should  fit  out,  according  to 
their  capabilities,  one  or  more  galleys,  and  other 
ships  of  the  kind  required  And  there  being  no 
doubt  that  many  would  find  it  to  their  private 
advantage  to  do  this,  it  followed  that  the  republic 
in  time  of  need  would  secvire  the  aid  of  these  armed 
vessels,  and  that  each  place  acquired  could  be 
defended  by  them  with  the  aid  of  the  State — a  thing 
which  by  itself  the  republic  cpuld  not  have  accom- 
plished except  with  much  expense  and  trouble.  It 
was  therefore  ordained  that  they  (who  undertook 
this),  with  their  wives  and  children  and  all  they 
possessed,  might  settle  in  these  islands,  and  that,  as 
colonists  sent  by  the  city,  their  safety  would  be 
under  the  care  and  guarantee  of  the  republic." 
Many  private  persons,  he  adds,  armed  for  this  un- 
dertaking. 

The  rambling  chronicle  of  Sanudo  gives  us  here 
a  romantic  story  of  the  conquest  of  Candia  by  his 
own  ancestor  Marco  Sanudo,  who,  according  to  this 
narrative,  having  swept  from  the  seas  a  certain 
corsair  called  Arrigo  or  Enrico  of  Malta,  became 
master  of  the  island.  The  inhabitants,  as.  a  matter 
of  course,  resisted  and  rebelled,  but  not  in  the  usual 
way,  "Accept  the  kingdom  as  our  sovereign," 
their  envoys  said,  "or  in  three  hours  you  must  leave 
Candia. "  This  flattering  but  embarrassing  alterna- 
tive confounded  the  Venetian  leader.  But  he 
accepted  the  honor  thrust  upon  him,  writing  at 
once,  however,  to  the  doge,  telling  the  choice  that 
had  been  given  him,  and  how  he  had  accepted  it 
from    necessity  and    devotion  to  the  republic,   in 


m  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

whose  name  he  meant  to  hold  the  island.  The 
Venetians  at  once  sent  twelve  ships  of  war,  on  pre- 
tense of  congratulating  him,  whom  he  received  with 
a  royal  welcome ;  then,  handing  over  his  govern- 
ment to  the  commander  of  the  squadron,  took  to 
his  ships  and  left  the  dangerous  glory  of  the  inse- 
cure  throne  behind  him.  It  is  a  pity  that  the  docu- 
ments do  not  bear  out  this  pleasant  story.  But  if 
a  man's  own  descendant  does  not  know  the  rights 
of  his  ancestor's  actions,  who  should?  Sanudo  goes 
on  to  relate  how,  as  a  reward  for  this  magnanimous 
renunciation,  his  forefather  was  allowed  the  com- 
mand of  the  fleet  for  a  year,  and  with  this  scoured 
the  sea  and  secured  island  after  island,  placing  his 
own  kinsmen  in  possession ;  but  at  last,  being  out- 
numbered, was  taken  prisoner  in  a  naval  engage- 
ment by  the  admirals  of  the  Emperor  of  Constanti- 
nople (which  emperor  is  not  specified).  "But,** 
says  his  descendant,  "when  the  said  emperor  saw 
his  valorosity  and  beauty,  he  set  him  tree,  and 
gave  him  one  of  his  sisters  in  marriage,  from  which 
lady  are  descended  almost  all  the  members  of  the 
Ca'  Sanudo."  The  historian  allows  with  dignified 
candor  that  this  story  is  not  mentioned  by  Marc 
Antonio  Sabellico,  but  it  is  to  be  found,  he  says, 
in  the  other  chroniclers.  We  regret  to  add  that  the 
austere  Romanin  gives  a  quite  difi;erent  account  of 
the  exploits  of  Marco  Sanudo,  the  lord  of  Naxos. 
It  would  have  been  pleasant  to  have  associated  so 
magnanimous  a  seaman  with  the  name  of  the 
chronicler  of  the  Crusades  and  the  indefatigable 
diarist  to  whom  later  Venetian  history  is  so  deeply 
indebted. 

These  splendid  conquests  brought  enormous  in- 
crease of  wealth,  of  trade,  ot  care,  and  endless  occu- 
pation to  the  republic.  Gained  and  lost,  and 
regained  and  lost  again ;  fairly  fought  for,  strenu- 
ously held;  a  source  perhaps  at  all  times  of  more 
weakness  than  strength,  they  had  all  faded  out  of 
the  tiara  of  the  republic  long  before  she  was  her- 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  91 

self  discrowned.  But  there  still  remains  in  Venice 
one  striking  evidence  of  the  splendid,  disastrous 
expedition,  the  unexampled  conquests  and  victor- 
ies, yet  dismal  end,  of  what  is  called  the  Fourth 
Crusade.  And  that  is  the  four  great  bronze  horses 
—  curious,  inappropriate,  bizarre  ornaments  that 
stand  above  the  doorways  of  San  Marco.  This  was 
the  blind  doge's  lasting  piece  of  spoil. 

The  four  doges  of  the  Dandolo  family  who  appear 
at  intervals  in  the  list  of  princes  of  the  republic  are 
too  far  apart  to  be  followed  here.  Francesco  Dan- 
dolo, 1328-39,  the  third  of  the  name,  was  called 
Cane,  according  to  tradition,  because  when  ambas- 
sador to  Pope  Clement  V. ,  this  noble  Venetian,  for 
the  love  of  Venice,  humbled  himself,  and  with  a 
chain  round  his  neck  and  on  his  knees,  approached 
the  Pontiff,  imploring  that  the  interdict  might  be 
raised  and  Venice  delivered  from  the  pains  of  ex- 
communication. If  this  had  been  to  show  that  men 
ot  his  race  thought  nothing  too  much  for  the  service 
of  their  city,  whether  it  were  pride  or  humility, 
defiance  or  submission,  the  circle  which  included 
blind  Enrico  and  Francesco  the  Doge  could  scarcely 
be  more  complete.  The  last  of  the  Dandolo  doges 
was  Andrea,  1342-54,  a  man  of  letters  as  well  as  of 
practical  genius,  and  the  historian  ot  his  predeces- 
sors and  of  the  city :  whom  at  a  later  period  and  in 
gentler  company  we  shall  find  again. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

PIETRO    GRADENIGO:       CHANGE    OF    THE    CONSTITUTION. 

We  have  endeavored  up  to  this  time  to  trace  the 
development  of  the  Venetian  government  and  ter- 
ritory, not  continuously,  but  from  point  to  point, 
according  to  the  great  conquests  which  increased 
the  latter,  and  the  growth  of  system  and  political 
order  in  the  former,  which  became  necessary  as  the 

.    7  Venico  ,  -  -    - 


98  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

community  increased  and  the  primitive  rule  was 
outgrown.  But  at  the  end  of  the  thirteenth  cen- 
tury a  great  revolution  took  place  in  the  republic 
which  had  risen  to  such  prosperity,  and  had  ex- 
tended its  enterprises  to  every  quarter  of  the  known 
world.  It  was  under  the  Doge  Gradenigo,  a  new 
type  among  the  rulers  of  the  state,  neither  a  soldier 
nor  a  conqueror,  but  a  politician,  that  this  change 
took  place — a  change  antagonistic  to  the  entire 
sentiment  of  the  early  Venetian  institutions,  but 
embodying  all  with  which  the  world  is  familiar  in 
the  later  forms  of  that  great  oligarchy,  the  proud- 
est type  of  republic  known  to  history.  The  election 
of  Pietro  Gradenigo  was  not  a  popular  one.  It  is 
evident  that  a  new  feeling  of  class  antagonism 
had  been  gathering  during  the  last  reign,  that  of 
Giovanni  Dandolo;  and  that  both  sides  were  on  the 
alert  to  seize  an  advantage.  Whether  the  proposals 
for  the  limitation  of  the  Consiglio  Maggiore  which 
were  already  in  the  air,  and  the  sensation  of  an 
approaching  attack  upon  their  rights,  were  suffi- 
ciently clear  to  the  populace  to  stimulate  them  to 
an  attempt  to  regain  the  ancient  privilege  ot  elect- 
ing the  doge  by  acclamation;  or  whether  it  was  this 
attempt  which  drove  the  other  party  to  more  deter- 
mined action,  it  is  impossible  to  judge.  But  at  the 
death  of  Gradenigo's  predecessor  there  was  a  rush 
of  the  people  to  the  Piazza  with  Voct  e parole 
pungentisstme  in  a  wild  and  sudden  endeavor  to  push 
off  the  yoke  of  the  regular  (and  most  elaborate) 
laws,  which  had  now  been  in  operation  for  many 
generations,  and  to  reclaim  their  ancient  custom. 
The  crowd  coming  together  from  all  quarters  of  the 
city  proclaimed  the  name  of  Jacopo  Tiepolo,  the 
son  or  nephew  of  a  former  doge  and  a  man  of  great 
popularity,  while  still  the  solemn  officers  of  state 
were  busy  in  arranging  the  obsequies  of  the  dead 
doge  and  preparing  the  multitudinous  ballot-boxes 
for  the  election  of  his  successor.  Had  Tiepolo  been 
a  less  excellent    citizen,  Romanin  says,  civil  war. 


THE  MAKERS*bF  VENICE.  99 

would  almost  certainly  have  been  the  issue,  but  he 
was  "a  man  of  prudence  and  singular  goodness,"  a 
huomo  da  bene,  who,  "despising  the  madness  of  the 
crowd,"  and  to  avoid  the  discord  which  must  have 
followed,  left  the  town  secretly,  in  the  midst  of  the 
tumult,  and  took  refuge  in  his  villa  on  the  Brenta, 
the  favorite  retreat  of  Venetian  nobles.  The  peo- 
ple were  apparently  not  ripe  for  anything  greater 
than  this  sudden  and  easily  baffled  effort,  and,  when 
their  favorite  stole  away,  permitted  the  usual  wire- 
pullers, the  class  which  had  so  long  originated  and 
regulated  everything,  to  proceed  to  the  new  election 
in  the  usual  way. 

No  more  elaborate  machinery  than  that  employed 
in  this  solemn  transaction  could  be  imagined.  The 
almost  ludicrous  multiplicity  of  its  appeals  to  Prov- 
la^iice  or  fate,  developed  and  increasing  from  age 
to  age,  the  continually  repeated  drawing  of  lots, 
and  double  and  triple  elections,  seem  to  evidence 
the  most  jealous  determination  to  secure  impartial- 
ity and  unbiased  judgment.  The  order  of  the  pro- 
ceedings is  recorded  at  length  by  Martin  da  Canale 
in  his  chronicle,  which  is  of  undoubted  authority, 
and  repeated  by  later  writers.  The  six  counsellors 
(augmented  from  the  two  of  the  early  reigns)  of  the 
doge,  according  to  this  historian,  called  a  meeting 
of  the  Consiglio  Maggiore,  having  first  provided  a 
number  of  balls  of  wax,  the  same  number  as  the 
members  of  the  council,  in  thirty  of  which  was  in- 
closed a  little  label  of  parchment  inscribed  with  the 
word  Lector.  The  thirty  who  drew  these  balls  were 
separated  from  the  assembly  in  another  chamber  of 
the  palace,  first  being  made  to  swear  to  perform  their 
office  justly  and  impartially.  There  were  then 
produced  thirty  more  waxen  balls,  in  nine  of  which 
was  the  same  inscription.  The  chosen,  who  were 
thus  reduced  to  nine,  the  number  of  completeness, 
varied  the  process  by  electing  forty  citizens, 
whether  members  or  not  of  the  Consiglio  Maggiore 
being  left  to  their  discretion.      Each  of  these,  how- 


/do  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

ever,  required  to  secure  the  suffrages  of  seven 
electors.  The  reader  will  hope  that  by  this  time 
at  last  he  has  come  to  the  electors  of  the  doge ;  but 
not  so.  The  forty  thus  chosen  were  sent  for  from 
their  houses  by  the  six  original  counselors,  who  had 
the  management  of  the  election ;  and  forty  waxen 
pellets  with  the  mystic  word  Lector,  this  time  in- 
closed in  twelve  of  them,  were  again  provided. 
These  were  put  into  a  hat,  and,  apparently  for  the 
first  time,  a  child  of  eleven  was  called  in  to  act  as 
the  instrviment  of  fate.  Another  writer  describes 
how  one  of  the  permanent  counsellors,  going  out  at 
this  point,  probably  in  the  interval  while  the  forty 
new  electors  were  being  sent  for  from  their  houses, 
heard  Mass  in  San  Marco,  and  taking  hold  of  the 
first  boy  he  met  on  coming  out,  led  him  into  the 
palace  to  draw  the  balls.  The  twelve  thus  drawn 
were  once  more  sworn,  and  elected  twenty-five, 
each  of  whom  required  eight  votes  to  make  his 
election  valid.  The  twenty-five  were  reduced  once 
more,  by  the  operation  of  the  ballot,  to  nine,  who 
were  taken  into  another  room  and  again  sworn,  after 
which  they  elected  forty-five,  reduced  by  ballot  to 
eleven,  who  finally  elected  forty-one,  who,  at  the 
end  of  all  things,  elected  the  doge.  The  childish 
elaboration  of  this  mode  of  procedure  is  scarcely 
more  strange  than  the  absolute  absence  of  novelty 
in  the  result  produced.  No  plebeian  tribune  ever 
stole  into  power  by  these  means,  no  new  man, 
mounted  on  the  shoulders  of  the  people, or  of  some 
theorist  or  partisan,  ever  surprised  the  reigning 
families  with  a  new  name.  The  elections  ran  in  the 
established  lines  without  a  break  or  misadventure. 
If  any  popular  interference  disturbed  the  serenity 
and  self-importance  of  the  endless  series  of  electors 
it  was  only  to  turn  the  current  in  the  direction  of 
one  powerful  race  instead  of  another.  Even  the 
populace  in  the  Piazza  proclaimed  no  Lanifizio  or 
Tintorio,  wool-worker  or  dyer,  but  a  Tiepolo,  when 
they  attempted  to  take  the  election  into  their  own 


THE  MAKERS  OP  YEI^ICE.  tOl 

hands.     Neither  from  without  nor  within  was  there 
a  suggestion  of  any  new  name. 

The  doge  elected  on  this  occasion  was  Pietro, 
called  Perazzo  (a  corruption  of  the  name  not  given 
in  a  complimentary  sense)  Gradenigo,  who  was  at 
the  time  Governor  of  Capo  d'Istria,  an  ambitious 
man  of  strongly  aristocratic  views,  and  no  favorite 
with  the  people.  It  can  scarcely  be  supposed  that 
he  was  individually  responsible  for  the  change 
worked  by  his  agency  in  the  constitution  of  the 
Consiglio  Maggiore.  It  was  a  period  of  consti- 
tional  development  when  new  officers,  new  agen- 
cies, an  entire  civil  service  were  coming  into  being, 
and  the  Great  Council  had  not  only  all  the  affairs 
of  the  State  passing  through  its  hands,  but  a  large 
amount  of  patronage,  increasing  every  day.  Al- 
though, as  has  been  pointed  out  repeatedly,  the 
sovereignty  of  Venice,  under  whatever  system  car- 
ried on,  had  always  been  in  the  hands  of  a  certain 
number  of  families,  who  kept  their  place  with 
almost  dynastic  regularity,  undisturbed  by  any  in- 
truders from  "beloW' — the  system  of  the  Consiglio 
Maggiore  was  still  professedly  a  representative 
system  of  the  widest  kind;  and  it  would  seem  at  the 
first  glance  as  if  every  honest  man,  all  who  were 
da  bene  and  respected  by  their  fellows,  must  one 
time  or  other  have  been  secure  of  gaining  admission 
to  that  popular  parliament,  Romanin,  strongly 
partisan,  like  all  Venetians,  of  the  institution  under 
which  Venice  flourished,  takes  pains  to  point  out 
here  and  there  one  or  two  exceptional  names  which 
show  that  at  long  intervals  such  elections  did  hap- 
pen; but  they  were  very  rare,  and  the  exceptional 
persons  thus  elevated  never  seem  to  have  made 
themselves  notable.  However,  as  the  city  grew 
and  developed,  it  is  evident  that  the  families  who 
had  aways  ruled  over  her  began  to  feel  that  the 
danger  of  having  her  courts  invaded  by  the  democ- 
racy was  becoming  a  real  one.  The  mode  of  elect- 
ing the  Great  Council  was  very  informal  and  vari^- 


102  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

ble,  and  it  had  recently  fallen  more  and  more  into 
the  hands  of  the  intriguers  of  the  Broglio — the  lob- 
byists, as  the  Americans  would  say — which  doubt- 
less gave  pretext  for  the  radical  change  which 
was  to  alter  its  character  altogether.  Some  times 
its  members  were  chosen  by  delegates  from  each 
sestiere  or  district  of  the  city,  sometimes,  which  was 
the  original  idea,  by  four  individuals,  "two  from 
this  side  of  the  canal,  two  from  that;"  sometimes 
they  were  elected  for  six  months,  sometimes  for  a 
year.  The  whole  system  was  uncertain  and  wanted 
regulation.  But  this  curious  combination  of 
chances,  which  was  something  like  putting  into  a 
lottery  for  their  rulers,  pleased  the  imagination  of 
the  people  in  their  primitive  state,  and  perhaps 
flattered  the  minds  of  the  masses  with  a  continual 
possibility  that  upon  some  of  their  own  order  the 
happy  lot  might  fall.  It  had  been  proposed  in  the 
previous  reign  not  only  that  these  irregularities 
should  be  remedied,  which  was  highly  expedient 
but  also  that  a  certain  hereditary  principle  should 
be  adopted,  which  was,  in  theory,  a  nev/  thing  and 
strange  to  the  constitution  of  Venice;  the  sugges- 
tion being  that  those  whose  fathers  had  sat  in  the 
council  should  have  a  right  to  election,  though  with- 
out altogether  excluding  others  whom  the  doge  or 
his  counsellors  should  consider  worthy  of  being 
added  to  it. 

When  Gradenigo  came  to  power  he  was  probably, 
like  a  new  prime  minister,  pledged  to  carry  out  this 
policy;  and  within  a  few  years  of  his  accession  the 
experiment  was  tried,  but  very  cautiously,  in  a 
tentative  way.  Venice  was  profoundly  occupied 
at  the  time  with  one  of  her  great  wars  with  her  rival 
Genoa,  a  war  in  which  she  had  much  the  worst, 
though  certain  victories  from  time  to  time  in  East- 
ern waters  encouraged  her  to  pursue  the  struggle; 
and  it  was  under  cover  of  this  conflict,  which  en- 
gaged men's  thoughts,  that  the  new  experiment 
was  made.     Instead  of  the  ordinary  periodical  elec- 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  103 

tion  of  the  council,  nominally  open  to  all,  the  four 
chosen  electors,  to  whom  this  duty  ordinarily  fell, 
nominated  only,  in  the  first  place,  such  members 
ot  the  existing  Consiglio  Maggiore  as  had  in  their 
own  persons  or  in  those  of  their  fathers  sat  in  the 
council  during  the  last  four  years,  who  were  then 
re-elected  by  ballot,  taken  for  each  man  individually 
by  the  Forty,  a  recently  constituted  body ;  to  whom 
a  further  number  of  names  from  outside  were  then 
proposed,  and  voted  for  in  the  same  way.  Thus 
the  majority  of  members  elected  was  not  only  con- 
fined to  those  possessing  a  hereditary  claim,  but 
the  election  was  taken  out  of  the  hands  of  the  tradi- 
tional electors  and  transferred  to  those  of  the  exist- 
ing rulers  of  the  city.  The  new  method  was  first 
tried  for  a  year,  and  then  established  as  the  funda- 
mental law  of  the  republic,  with  the  further  exclus- 
ion of  the  one  popular  and  traditional  element,  the 
nominal  four  electors,  whose  work  was  now  trans- 
ferred to  the  officials  of  the'  state.  The  change  thus 
carried  out  was  great  in  principle,  though  perhaps 
not  much  different  in  practice  from  that  which  had 
become  the  use  and  wont  of  the  city.  *'The 
citizens,"  says  Romanin,  "were  thus  divided  into 
three  classes — first,  those  who  neither  in  their  own 
persons  nor  through  their  ancestors  had  ever 
formed  part  of  the  great  council;  second,  those 
whose  progenitors  had  been  mxcmbers  of  it;  third, 
those  who  were  themselves  members  of  the  council, 
both  they  and  their  fathers.  The  first  were  called 
New  men,  and  were  never  admitted  save  by  special 
grace;  the  second  class  were  included  from  time  to 
time;  finally,  the  third  were  elected  by  full  right. 

This  was  the  law  which,  under  the  name  of  the 
Serrata  del  Consigho  Maggiore,  caused  two  rebellions 
in  Venice  and  confirmed  forever  beyond  dispute  her 
oligarchical  government.  Her  parliament,  so 
fondly  supposed  to  be  that  of  the  people,  was  no 
more  closed  to  the  New  men  than  is  our  House  of 
Lords.       Now   and   then   an   exceptional  individual 


104  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

might  be  nominated,  and  by  means  of  great  serv- 
ices, wealth,  or  other  superior  qualities,obtain  admis- 
sion. It  was  indeed  the  privilege  and  reward 
henceforward  zealously  striven  for  by  the  plebeian 
class,  and,  unfortunately,  more  often  bestowed  in 
recompense  for  the  betrayal  of  political  secrets,  and 
especially  of  popular  conspiracies,  than  for  better 
reasons.  But  the  right  was  with  those  whose  fath- 
ers had  held  the  position  before  them,  whose  rank 
was  already  secure  and  ascertained,  the  nobles  and 
patrician  classes.  The  hereditary  legislator  thus 
arose  in  the  bosom  of  the  state  which  considered 
itself  the  most  free  in  Christendom,  in  his  most 
marked  and  distinct  form.  Romanin  tells  us  that 
the  most  famous  Libro  d'Oro,  the  book  of  nobility, 
was  formed  in  order  to  keep  clear  the  descent  and 
legitimacy  of  all  claimants;  bastards,  and  even  the 
sons  of  a  wife  not  noble,  being  rigorously  excluded. 
The  law  itself  was  strengthened  by  successive  addi- 
tions, so  as  to  confine  the  electors  exclusively  to  the 
patrician  class. 

The  war  with  Genoa  was  still  filling  all  minds 
when  this  silent  revolution  was  accomplished. 
How  could  Venice  give  her  attention  to  what  was 
going  on  in  the  gilded  chambers  of  the  Palazzo, 
when  day  by  day  the  city  Vas  convulsed  by  bad 
news  or  deluded  by  faint  gleams  of  better  hope? 
Once  and  again  the  Venetian  fleets  were  defeated, 
and  mournful  galleys  came  drifting  up,  six  or  seven 
out  of  a  hundred,  to  tell  the  tale  of  destruction  and 
humiliation;  and  ever  with  renewed  efforts,  in  a 
rage  of  despairing  energy,  the  workmen  toiling  in 
the  arsenal,  the  boatmen  giving  up  their  tranquil 
traffic  upon  the  lagoons  to  man  the  new  appointed 
ships,  and  every  family,  great  and  small,  offering 
its  dearest  to  sustain  the  honor  of  the  republic,  the 
energies  of  the  city  were  strained  to  the  utmost.  In 
the  autumn  of  1298,  just  when  the  Serrata  had  been 
confirmed  in  the  statute-book,  the  great  fleet,  com- 
manded by  Admiral  Andrea  Dandolo.  sailed  from 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  105 

the  Port,  with  all  the  aspect  of  a  squadron  invinc- 
ible, to  punish  the  Genoese  and  end  the  war.  In 
one  of  the  ships  was  a  certain  Marco  Polo,  from  his 
home  near  San  Giovanni  Chrisostomo,  Marco  of  the 
Millions,  a  great  traveling  merchant,  whose  stories 
had  been  as  fables  in  his  countrymen's  ears.  This 
great  expedition  did  indeed  for  the  time  end  the 
war ;  but  not  by  victory.  It  was  cruelly  defeated 
on  the  Dalmatian  coasts  after  a  stubborn  and  bloody 
struggle.  The  admiral  Andrea  dashed  his  head 
against  his  mast  and  died  rather  than  be  taken  to 
Genoa  in  chains;  while  the  humbler  sailor  Marco 
Polo,  with  crowds  of  his  countrymen,  was  carried  off 
to  prison  there,  to  his  advantage  and  ours,  as  it 
turned  out.  But  Venice  was  plunged  into  mourn- 
ing and  woe,  her  resources  exhausted,  her  captains 
lost.  Genoa,  who  had  bought  the  victory  dear,  was 
in  little  less  unhappy  condition ;  and  in  the  follow- 
ing year  the  rival  republics  were  glad  to  make  peace 
under  every  pledge  of  mutual  forbearance  and 
friendship  for  as  long  as  it  could  last.  It  was  only 
after  this  conclusion  of  the  more  exciting  interests 
abroad  that  the  Venetians  at  home,  recovering  tran- 
quillity, began  to  look  within  and  see  in  the  mean- 
time what  the  unpopular  doge  and  his  myrmidons, 
while  nobody  had  been  looking,  had  been  engaged 
about. 

It  is  difficult  to  tell  what  the  mass  of  the  people 
thought  of  the  new  position  of  affairs;  for  all  the 
chroniclers  are  on  the  winning  side,  and  even  the 
careful  Romanin  has  little  sympathy  with  the  rev- 
olutionaries. The  Venetian  populace  had  long  been 
pleasantly  deceived  as  to  their  own  power.  They 
had  been  asked  to  approve  what  their  masters  had 
decided  upon  and  made  to  believe  it  was  their  own 
doing.  They  had  given  a  picturesque  and  impres- 
sive background  as  of  a  unanimous  people  to  the 
decisions  of  the  doge  and  his  counsellors,  the  sight 
of  their  immense  assembly  making  the  noble  French 
envoys  weep  like  women.       But  whether  they  had 


lOB  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

begun  to  see  through  those  fine  pretenses  of  con- 
sulting them,  and  to  perceive  how  little  they  had 
reall)^  to  do  with  it  all,  no  one  tells  us.  Their 
attempt  to  elect  their  own  doge,  without  waiting  for 
the  authorities,  looks  as  if  they  had  become  sus- 
picious of  their  masters.  And  at  the  same  time  the 
arbitrary  closing  of  the  avenues  of  power  to  all  men 
whose  fortune  was  not  made  or  their  position  secure, 
and  the  establishment  in  the  council  of  that  hercr 
ditary  principle  so  strenuouslyopposed  in  the  election 
of  the  doges,  were  sufficiently  distinct  changes  to 
catch  the  popular  eye  and  disturb  the  imagination. 
Accordingly,  when  the  smoke  of  war  cleared  off  and 
the  people  came  to  consider  internal  politics,  dis- 
content and  excitement  arose.  This  found  vent  in 
a  sudden  and  evidently  natural  outburst  of  popular 
feeling.  The  leader  of  the  malcontents  was  "a  cer- 
tain Marino  whose  surname  was  Boconio,"  says 
Sabellico,  *'a  man  who  was  not  noble,  nor  of  the 
baser  sort,  but  of  moderate  fortune,  bold  and  ready 
for  any  evil,"  precisely  of  that  class  of  new  men  to 
whom  political  privileges  are'most  dear,  one  on  the 
verge  of  a  higher  position,  and  doubtless  hoping  to 
push  his  way  into  parliament  and  secure  for  his 
sons  an  entry  into  the  class  of  particians.  "He  was 
much  followed  for  his  wealth, "  says  another  writer. 
Sanudo  gives  an  account  of  Bocconio's  (or  Bocco's) 
rebellion,  which  the  too  well  informed  Romanin 
summarily  dismisses  as  a  fable,  but  which  as  an 
expression  of  popular  feeling,  and  the  aspect  which 
the  new  state  of  affairs  bore  to  the  masses,  has  a 
certain  value.  The  matter-of-f^ct  legend  of  shut- 
ting out  and  casting  forth  embodies  in  the  most  forc- 
ible way  the  sense  of  an  exclusion  which  was  more 
complete  than  could  be  effected  by  the  closing  of 
any  palace  doors.  Bocconio  and  his  friends,  accord- 
ing to  vSanudo,  indignant  and  enrao^ed  to  be  shut 
out  from  the  council,  crowded  into  the  Piazza  with 
many  followers,  at  the  time  when  they  supposed  the 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  107 

elections  to  be  going  on,  and  found  the  gates  closed 
and  the  Genttlhuoimni  assembled  within. 

Then  beating  at  the  door  they  called'out  that  they  desired  to 
form  part  of  the  council,  and  would  not  be  excluded ;  upon 
which  the  doge  sent  messengers  to  tell  them  that  the  council 
was  not  engaged  upon  the  election  but  was  discussing  other 
business.  As  they  continued,  however,  to  insist  upon  coming 
in,  the  doge,  seeing  that  he  made  no  advance  but  that  the 
tumult  kept  increasing  in  the  Piazza,  deliberated  with  the 
council  how  to  entrap  these  seditious  persons,  to  call  forth 
against  them  ultimum  de  potentia,  the  severest  penalty  of  the 
law.  Accordingly  he  sent  to  tell  them  that  they  should  be 
called  in  separately  in  parties  of  five,  and  that  those  who  suc- 
ceeded in  the  ballot  should  remain  as  members  of  the  council, 
on  condition  that  those  who  failed  should  disperse  and  go 
away.  The  first  called  were  Marino  Bocco,  Jacopo  Boldo, 
and  three  others.  The  doors  were  then  closed  and  a  good 
guard  set,  after  which  the  five  were  stripped  and  thrown  into 
a  pit,  the  Trabucco  della  Toresella,  and  so  killed ;  and  the 
others  being  called  in,  in  succession,  and  treated  in  the  same 
way,  the  chief  men  and  ringleaders  were  thus  disposed  of  to 
the  number  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  or  sixty  men.  The  crowd 
remaining  in  the  Piazza  persuaded  themselves  that  all  those 
who  were  called  in,  of  whom  none  came  back,  had  been  made 
nobles  of  the  Great  Council.  And  when  it  was  late  in  the 
evening  the  members  of  the  council  came  down  armed  into  the 
Piazza,  and  a  proclamation  was  made  by  order  of  the  doge 
that  all  should  return  to  their  homes  on  pain  of  punishment ; 
hearing  which  the  crowd,  struck  with  terror,  had  the  grace  to 
disperse  in  silence.  Then  the  corpses  of  those  who  were  dead 
were  brought  out  and  laid  in  the  Piazza,  with  the  command 
that  if  anyone  touched  them  it  should  be  at  the  risk  of  his 
head.  And  when  it  was  seen  that  no  one  was  bold  enough  to 
approach,  the  rulers  perceived  that  the  people  were  obedient. 
And  some  days  after,  as  they  could  not  tolerate  the  stench, 
the  bodies  were  buried.  And  in  this  manner  ended  that  sedi- 
tion, so  that  no  one  afterward  ventured  to  open  his  mouth  on 
such  matters. 

This  legend  Sanudo  takes,  as  he  tells  us,  from  the 
chronicles  of  a  certain  Zeccaria  da  Pozzo;  and  it 
does  not  interfere  with  his  faith  in  the  narrative  tha^ 
he  himself  has  recorded  on  a  previous  page  the  ex- 
ecution of  Bocco  and  his  fellow  conspirators  **be- 
tween  the  columns"  in  the  usual  way.  Perhaps  he 
too  felt  that  this  wild  yet  matter-of-fact  version  of 
the  incident,  the  closed  doors   and   the   mysterious 


108  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

slaughter  of  the  intruders  in  the  hidden  courts 
within,  was  an  effective  and  natural  way  of  repre- 
senting the  action  of  a  constitutional  change  so  im- 
portant. The  names  of  the  conspirators  who  died 
with  Bocconio  are  almost  all  unknown  and  obscure 
names,  yet  there  was  a  sprinkling  of  patricians,  up- 
holders of  the  popular  party,  such  as  are  always  to 
be  found  on  similar  occasions,  and  which  reappear 
in  the  more  formidable  insurrection  that  followed. 
For  the  moment,  however,  the  summary  extinc- 
tion of  Bocconio's  ill-planned  rebellion  intimidated 
and  silenced  the  people,  w^hile,  on  the  other  side,  it 
was  made  an  occasion  of  tightening  the  bonds  of 
the  Serrata,  and  making  the  admission  of  the 
homo  710V0US  more  difficult   than  ever. 

This  little  rebellion,  so  soon  brought  to  a  conclu- 
sion, took  place  in  the  spring  of  the  year  1300,  the 
year  of  the  jubilee,  when  all  the  world  was  crowding 
to  Rome,  and  Dante,  standing  on  the  bridge  of  St. 
Angelo,  watching  the  streams  of  the  pilgrims  com- 
ing and  going,  bethought  himself,  like  a  true  peni- 
tent, of  his  own  moral  condition,  and  in  the 
musings  of  his  supreme  imagination  found  himself 
astray  in  evil  paths,  and  began  to  seek  through  hell 
and  heaven  the  verace  via,  the  right  way  which  he 
had  lost.  This  great  scene  of  religious  fervor,  in 
which  so  many  penitents  from  all  quarters  of  the 
world  renewed  the  vows  of  their  youth  and  pledged 
over  again  their  devotion  to  the  Church  and  the 
Faith,  comes  strangely  into  the  midst  of  the  fierce 
strife  between  Guelt  and  Ghibelline,  which  then 
rent  asunder  the  troubled  Continent,  and  especially 
Italy,  where  every 'city  took  part  in  the  struggle. 
Venice,  in  the  earlier  ages  as  well  as  in  later  times 
when  she  maintained  her  independence  against 
papal  interference,  has  usually  shown  much  indif- 
ference to  the  authority  of  the  Pope.  But  in  the 
beginnmgof  the  fourteenth  century  this  was  impos- 
sible, especially  when  the  great  Republic  of  the  Sea 
meddled,  as  she  had  no  right  to  do,  with  the  inter- 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE  109 

nal  policy  of  that  Terra  Firma,  the  fat  land  of  corn 
and  vine,  after  which  she  had  always  a  longing. 
And  there  now  fell  upon  her,  in  the  midst  of  all 
other  contentions,  the  most  terrible  of  all  catas- 
trophes to  which  mediaeval  States  were  subject,  the 
curse  of  Rome.  It  was,  no  doubt,  rather  with  that 
keen  eye  to  her  own  advantage  which  never  failed 
her,  than  from  any  distinct  bias  toward  the  side  of 
the  Ghibelline,  that  Venice  had  interposed  in  the 
c^estion  of  succession  which  agitated  the  city  of 
Ferrara,  and  finally  made  an  attempt  to  establish 
her  own  authority  in  that  distracted  place.  Indeed 
it  seems  little  more  than  an  accidental  appeal  on 
the  part  of  the  other  faction  to  the  protection  of  the 
Pope  which  brought  upon  her  the  terrible  punish- 
ment of  the  excommunication  which  Pope  Clement 
launched  from  Avignon,  and  which  ruined  her 
trade,  reduced  her  wealth,  put  all  her  wandering 
merchants  and  sailors  in  danger  of  their  lives,  and 
almost  threatened  with  complete  destruction  the 
proud  city  which  had  held  her  head  so  high.  It 
would  have  been  entirely  contrary  to  the  habits  of 
Venice,  as  of  every  other  republican  community, 
not  to  have  visited  this  great  calamity  more  or  less 
upon  the  head  of  the  state.  And  it  gave  occasion  to 
the  hostile  families  who  from  the  time  of  Graden- 
igo's  accession  had  been  seeking  an  opportunity 
against  him — the  house  of  Tiepolo  and  its  allies, 
the  Quirini,  who  had  opposed  the  war  of  Ferrara  all 
through  and  had  suffered  severely  in  it,  and  others, 
in  one  way  or  another  adverse  to  the  existing  Gov- 
ernment. The  Tiepoli  do  not  seem  to  have  been 
generally  of  the  mild  and  noble  character  of  him 
who  had  refused  to  be  elected  doge  by  the  clamor 
of  the  Piazza.  They  had  formed  all  through  a  bit- 
ter opposition  partly  to  the  doge  who  had  displaced 
their  kinsman.  Perhaps  even  Jacopo  Tiepolo,  him- 
self, while  retiring  from  the  strife  to  save  the  peace 
of  the  republic,  had  a  natural  expectation  that  the 
acclamation  of  the  populace  would  be  confirmed  by 


110  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

the  votes  of  the  electors.  At  all  events  his  family 
had  throughout  maintained  a  constitutional  feud, 
keeping  a  keen  eye  upon  all  proceedings  of  the  Gov- 
ernment, and  eager  to  find  a  sufficient  cause  for 
interference  more  practical. 

It  would  seem  a  proof  that  the  popular  mind  had 
not  fully  awakened  to  the  consequences  of  the 
change  of  laws  at  the  moment  of  Bocconio's  insur- 
rection that  the  patrician  opposition  did  not  seize 
that  opportunity.  The  occasion  they  sought  came 
later,  when  the  disastrous  war  and  the  horrors  of 
the  interdict,  events  more  immediately  perceptible 
than  any  change  of  constitution,  had  excited  all 
minds  and  opened  the  eyes  of  the  people  to  their 
internal  wrongs  by  the  light  of  those  tremendous 
misfortunes  which  the  ambition  or  the  unskillful- 
ness  of  their  doge  and  his  advisers  had  brought 
upon  them.  The  rebellious  faction  took  advantage 
of  all  possible  means  to  fan  the  fiatne  of  discontent; 
stimulating  the  stormy  debates  of  tlie  Consiglio 
Maggiore,  which  was  not  more  but  less  easy  to  man- 
age since  it  had  been  restricted  to  the  gentry,  while 
at  the  same  time  stirring  up  the  people  to  a  sense 
of  the  profound  injury  of  exclusion  from  its  ranks. 
The  Quirini,  the  Badoeri,  and  vari9us  others,  con- 
nected by  blood  and  friendship  with  the  Tiepoli, 
among  whom  were  hosts  of  young  gallants  always 
ready  for  a  brawl,  and  ready  to  follow  any  warlike 
lead,  to  quicken  the  action  of  their  seniors,  increased 
the  tension  on  all  sides.  How  the  excitement  grew 
in  force  and  passion  day  by  day;  how  one  incident 
after  another  raised  the  growing  wrath ;  how  scuffles 
arose  in  the  city  and  troubles  multiplied,  it  is  not 
difficult  to  imagine.  On  one  occasion  a  Dandolo 
took  the  wall  of  a  Tiepolo  and  a  fight  ensued;  on 
another,  "the  devil,  who  desires  the  destruction  of 
all  government,"  put  it  into  the  head  of  Marco 
Morosini,  one  of  the  Signori  di  Notte  (or  night  mag- 
istrates), to  inquire  whether  Pietro  Quirini  of  the 
elder  branch  (della  Ca'  Grande)  was  armed,  and  to 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  Ill 

order  him  to  be  searched;  on  which  Quirini, 
enraged,  tripped  up  the  said  Morosini  with  his  foot, 
and  all  the  Rialto  was  forthwith  in  an  uproar. 
The  houses  of  the  chiefs  of  the  party,  both  Tiepoli 
and  Quirini,  were  in  the  quarter  of  the  Rialto,  and 
close  to  the  bridge. 

At  length  the  gathering  fire  burst  into  flame.  No 
doubt  driven  beyond  patience  by  some  incident, 
trifling  in  itself,  Marco  Quirini,  one  of  the  heads  of 
his  house,  a  man  who  had  suffered  much  in  the 
war  with  Ferrara,  called  his  friends  and  neighbors 
round  him  in  his  palace,  and  addressed  the  assem- 
bled party;  attacking  the  doge  as  the  cause  of  all 
the  troubles  of  the  country,  the  chief  instrument  in 
changing  the  constitution,  in  closing  the  Great 
Council  to  the  people,  in  carrying  on  the  fatal  war 
with  Ferrara,  and  bringing  down  upon  the  city  the 
horrors  of  the  excommunication.  To  raise  a  party 
against  the  doge  for  private  reasons,  however  valid, 
would  not  be,  he  said,  the  part  of  a  good  citizen. 
But  how  could  they  stand  cold  spectators  of  the  ruin 
of  their  beloved  and  injured  country,  or  shut  their 
eyes  to  the  fact  that  the  evil  passions  of  one  man 
were  the  chief  cause  of  their  misery,  and  that  it 
was  he  who  had  not  only  brought  disaster  from 
without,  but,  by  the  closing  of  the  council,  shut  out 
from  public  affairs  so  many  of  the  worthiest  citi- 
zens? He  was  followed  by  a  younger  and  still  more 
ardent  speaker  in  the  person  of  Bajamonte  Tiepolo, 
the  son  of  Jacopo,  with  whose  name  henceforward 
this  historical  incident  is  chiefly  connected,  at  that 
time  one  of  the  most  prominent  figures  in  Venice, 
the  Gran  Cavaliero  ot  the  people,  who  loved  him, 
and  among  whom  he  had  inherited  his  father's 
popularity.  *'Let  us  leave  words  and  take  to  ac- 
tion,"  he  said,  "nor  pause  till  we  have  placed  on  the 
throne  a  good  prince,  who  will  restore  the  ancient 
laws,  and  preserve  and  increase  the  public  free- 
dom."  The  struggle  was  probably  in.  its  essence 
much  more  a  family  feud  than  a  popular  outbreak, 


112  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

but  it  is  a  sign  of  the  excitement  ot  the  time  that 
the  wrongs  of  the  people  were  at  every  turn  ap- 
pealed to  as  the  one  unquestionable  argument. 

Never  had  there  been  a  more  apt  moment  for  a 
popular  rising.  *'In  the  first  place,"  says  Caroldo, 
"the  city  was  very  ill  content  with  the  illustrious 
Pietro  Gradenigo,  who  in  the  beginning  of  his  reign 
had  the  boldness  to  reform  the  Consiglio  Maggiore ; 
admitting  a  larger  number  of  families  who  were 
noble,  and  few  of  those  who  ought  to  have  been  the 
principal  and  most  respected  ot  the  city,  taking  from 
the  citizens  and  populace  the  ancient  mode  of 
admission  into  the  council;  the  root  of  this  change 
being  the  hatred  he  bore  to  the  people,  wh^,  before 
his  election,  had  proclaimed  Jacopo  Tiepolu  doge, 
and  afterward  had  shown  little  satisfaction  witi.  the 
choice  made  of  himself.  And  not  only  did  he  bear 
rancor  against  Jacopo  Tiepolo,  but  against  the 
whole  of  his  family. ' ' 

Notwithstanding  this  rancor  Jacopo  Tiepolo  him- 
self, the  good  citizen,  was  the  only  one  who  now 
raised  his  voice  for  peace  and  endeavored  to  calm 
the  excitement  of  his  family  and  their  adherents. 
But  the  voice  of  reason  was  not  listened  to.  On 
the  night  of  the  14th  of  June,  1310,  ten  years  after 
Bocconio's  brief  and  ill-fated  struggle,  the  fires  of 
insurrection  were  again  lighted  up  in  Venice.  The 
conspirators  gathered  during  the  night  in  the  Quir- 
ini  Palace,  meeting  under  cover  of  the  darkness  in 
order  to  burst  forth  with  the  early  dawn,  and  with 
an  impeto  a  sudden  rush  from  the  Rialto  to  the 
Piazza,  to  gain  possession  of  the  center  of  the  city 
and  seize  and  kill  the  doge.  The  night,  however, 
was  not  one  of  thor>e  lovely  nights  of  June  which 
make  Venice  a  paradise.  It  was  a  fit  night  for  such 
a  bloody  and  fatal  undertaking  as  that  on  which 
these  muffied  conspirators  were  bound.  A  great 
storm  of  thunder  and  lightning,  such  as  has  no- 
where more  magnificent  force  than  on  the  lagoons, 
burst  forth  while  their  bands  were  assembling,  and 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  113 

torrents  of  rain  poured  from  the  gloomy  skies.  It 
was  in  the  midst  of  this  tempest,  which  favored 
while  it  cowed  them,  the  peals  of  the  thunder  mak- 
ing their  cries  of  ''Death  to  the  doge!"  and  "Free- 
dom to  the  people!"  inaudible,  and  muffling  the 
tramp  of  their  feet,  that  the  insurrectionists  set 
forth.  One  half  of  the  little  army,  under  Marco 
Quirini,  kept  the  nearer  way  along  the  canal  by 
bridge  2in^  fond  amenta ;  the  other,  led  by  Bajamonte 
himself,  threaded  their  course  by  the  narrow  streets 
of  the  Merceria  to  the  same  central  point.  The 
sounds  of  the  march  were  lost  in  the  commotion  of 
nature,  and  the  dawn  for  which  they  waited  was 
blurred  in  the  stormy  tumults  of  the  elements. 
The  dark  line  of  the  rebels  pushed  on,  however, 
spite  of  storm  and  rain ;  secure,  it  would  seem,  that 
their  secret  had  been  kept  and  that  their  way  was 
clear  before  them. 

But  in  the  meantime  the  doge,  who,  whatever 
were  his  faults,  seems  to  have  been  a  man  of  energy 
and  spirit,  had  heard,  as  the  authorities  always 
heard,  of  the  intended  rising;  and  taking  his  meas- 
ures as  swiftly  and  silently  as  if  he  had  been  the 
conspirator,  called  together  all  the  officers  of  state, 
with  their  retainers  and  servants,  and  sending  off 
messengers  to  Chioggia,  Torcella,  and  Murano  for 
succor,  ranged  his  little  forces  in  the  Piazza  under 
the  flashing  of  the  lightning  and  the  pouring  of  the 
rain,  and  silently  awaited  the  arrival  of  the  rebels. 
A  more  dramatic  scene  could  not  be  conceived.  The 
two  lines  of  armed  men  stumbling  on  in  the  dark- 
ness, waiting  for  a  flash  to  show  them  the  steps  of 
a  bridge  or  the  sharp  corner  of  a  narrow  calle^ 
pressed  on  in  mutual  emulation,  their  hearts  hot  for 
the  attack,  and  all  the  points  of  the  assault  decided 
upon.  When  lo!  as  the  first  detachment,  that  led 
by  Quirini,  debouched  into  the  great  square,  a  sud- 
den wild  flash,  lighting  up  earth  and  heaven, 
showed  them  the  gleaming  swords  and  dark  files  of 
the  defenders  of  San  Marco  awaiting  their  arrival. 

8  Venice 


114  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

The  surprise  would  seem  to  have  been  complete; 
but  it  was  not  the  doge  who  was  surprised.  This 
unexpected  revelation  precipitated  the  fight,  which 
very  shortly,  the  leaders  being  killed  in  the  first 
rush,  turned  into  a  rout.  Bajamonte  appearing 
with  his  men  by  the  side  of  the  Merceria  made  a 
better  stand,  but  the  advantage  remained  with  the 
doge's  party,  who  knew  what  they  had  to  expect, 
and  had  the  superior  confidence  of  law  and  author- 
ity on  their  side. 

By  this  time  the  noise  of  the  human  tumult  sur- 
mounted that  of  the  skies,  and  the  peaceful  citizens 
who  had  slept  through  the  storm  woke  to  the  sound 
of  the  cries  and  curses,  the  clash  of  swords  and 
armor,  and  rushed  to  their  windows  to  see  what 
the  disturbance  was.  One  woman,  looking  out,  in 
the  mad  passion  of  terror  seized  the  first  thing  that 
came  to  had,  a  stone  vase  of  mortar  on  her  window- 
sill,  and  flung  it  down  at  hazard  into  the  midst  of  the 
tumult.  This  trifling  incident  would  seem  to  have 
been  the  turning-point  of  the  struggle.  The  heavy 
flower- pot  or  mortar  descended  upon  the  head  of  the 
standard-bearer  who  carried  Bajamonte's  flag  with 
its  inscription  of  Liberta,  and  struck  hiiTi  to  the 
ground.  When  the  rebels,  in  the  gray  of  the 
stormy  dawn,  saw  their  banner  waver  and  fall,  a 
panic  seized  them.  They  thought  it  was  taken  by 
the  enemy,  and  even  the  leader  himself,  the  Gran 
Cavaliero,  turned  with  the  panic-stricken  crowd  and 
fled.  Pursued  and  flying,  fighting,  making  here 
and  there  a  stand,  they  hurried  through  the  tor- 
tuous ways  to  the  Rialto,  which,  being  then  no  more 
than  a  bridge  of  wood,  they  cut  down  behind  them 
taking  refuge  on  the  other  side,  where  their  head- 
quarters were,  in  the  palace  of  the  Quirini,  the 
remains  of  which,  turned  to  ignoble  use  as  a  poul- 
terer's shop,  still  exists  in  the  Beccaria.  The  other 
half  of  the  insurrectionists,  that  which  had  been 
thrown  into  confusion  and  flight  by  the  death  of  its 
leader  Marco  Quirini,   met  on  its  disastrous  back- 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  115 

ward  course  a  band  hastily  collected  by  the  head  of 
the  Scuola  della  Carita,  and  increased  by  a  number 
of  painters  living  about  that  center  of  their  art — in 
the  Campo  San  Luca,  where  the  rebels  were  cut  to 
pieces. 

Bajamonte  and  his  men,  however,  arrived  safely 
at  their  stronghold,  having  on  their  way  sacked  and 
burned  the  office  of  the  customs  on  that  side  of  the 
river,  thus  covering  their  retreat  with  smoke  and 
flame.  Once  there  they  closed  their  gates,  intrench- 
ing their  broken  strength  in  the  great  mediaeval 
house  which  was  of  itself  a  fortress  and  defensible 
place.  And  after  all  that  had  happened  the  fate  of 
Venice  still  hung  in  the  balance,  and  such  was  the 
gravity  of  the  revolt  that  it  still  seemed  possible  for 
the  knot  of  desperate  men  intrenched  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Rive  Alto,  the  deep  stream  which  sweeps 
profound  and  strong  round  that  curve  of  the  bank, 
to  gain — did  Badoer  come  back  in  time  with  the  aid 
he  had  been  sent  to  seek  in  Padua — the  upper  hand. 
Even  when  Badoer  was  cut  off  by  Giustinian  and  his 
men  from  Chioggia,  the  doge  and  his  party,  though 
strong  and  confident,  do  not  seem  to  have  ventured 
to  attack  the  h<^-adquarters  of  the  rebels.  On  the 
contrary,  envoys  were  sent  to  offer  an  amnesty, 
and  even  pardon,  should  they  submit.  Three  times 
these  envoys  were  rowed  across  the  canal,  the 
ruined  bridge  lying  black  before  their  eyes,  fretting 
the  glittering  waves,  which,  no  doubt,  by  this  time 
leaped  and  dashed  against  the  unaccustomed  ob- 
stacle in  all  the  brightness  of  June,  the  thunder- 
storm over,  though  not  the  greater  tempest  of 
human  passion.  From  the  other  bank,  over  the 
charred  ruins  of  the  houses  they  had  destroyed,  the 
rebel  Venetians,  looking  out  in  their  rage,  dis- 
appointment, and  despair,  to  see  embassy  after  em- 
bassy conducted  to  the  edge  of  the  ferry,  must  have 
felt  still  a  certain  fierce  satisfaction  in  their  impor- 
tance, and  in  the  alarm  to  which  these  successive 
messengers  testified.     At  last,  however,  there  came 


116  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

alone  a  venerable  counsellor,  Filippo  Belegno, 
"moved  by  love  of  his  country"  to  attempt  once 
more  the  impossible  task  of  moving  these  obstinate 
and  desperate  men.  No  doubt  he  put  before  them 
the  agitated  state  of  the  city,  the  strange  sight  it 
was  with  the  ruins  still  smoking,  the  streets  still  full 
of  the  wounded  and  dying;  torn  in  two,  the  peace- 
ful bridge  lying  a  great  wreck  in  mid-stream. 
"And  such  was  his  venerable  aspect  and  the  force 
of  his  eloquence"  that  he  won  the  rebels  at  last  to 
submission.  Bajamonte  and  his  immediate  followers 
were  banished  for  life  from  Venice  and  its  vicinity 
to  the  distant  lands  of  Slavonia  beyond  Zara;  others 
less  prominent  were  allowed  to  hope  that  in  a  few 
years  they  might  be  recalled;  and  the  least  guilty, 
on  making  compensation  for  what  they  had  helped 
to  destroy,  were  pardoned.  Thus  ended  the  most 
serious  revolt  that  had  ever  happened  in  Venice. 
One  cannot  help  feeling  that  it  was  hard  upon 
Badoer  and  several  others  who  were  taken  fighting 
to  be  beheaded,  while  Bajamonte  was  thus  able  to 
make  terms  for  himself  and  escape,  with  his  head 
at  least. 

The  lives  thus  spared,  however,  were  but  little  to 
be  envied.  The  banishment  to  the  East  was  a  pen- 
alty which  the  republic  could  not  enforce.  She 
could  put  the  rebels  forth  from  her  territory,  but 
even  her  power  was  unable  in  those  wild  days  to 
secure  a  certain  place  of  banishment  for  the  exiles. 

Those  who  are  familiar  with  the  life  of  Dante 
will  remember  what  was  the  existence  of  Sifuor-usato 
banished  from  the  beloved  walls  of  Florence.  Baja- 
monte Tiepolo  was  a  personage  of  greater  social  im- 
portance than  Dante,  with  friends  and  allies  no  doubt 
in  all  the  neighboring  cities,  as  it  was  natural  a  man 
should  have  who  belonged  to  one  of  the  greatest 
Venetian  families.  The  records  of  the  state  are  full 
of  signs  and  tokens  of  his  passage  through  the 
Italian  mainland  and  his  long  wanderings  after- 
ward on   the  Dalmatian  coasts.      He  was  scarcely 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  117 

1^rell  got  rid  of  out  of  Venice  before  the  doge  is  vis- 
ible in  the  records  making  a  great  speech  in  the 
council,  in  which  he  gives  a  lively  picture  of  the 
state  of  affairs  and  of  the  contumacy  of  Bajamonte 
and  his  companions,  their  visits  to  Padua  and  Ro- 
vigo,  their  parleys  with  the  turbulent  spirits  of  the 
Marshes,  and  even  of  Lombardy — their  perpetual 
attempts  to  raise  again  the  standard  of  revolt  in 
Venice.  It  may  be  supposed  even  that  the  doge 
died  of  this  revolt  and  its  consequences,  in  the  pas- 
sion and  endless  harassment  consequent  upon  the 
constant  machinations  of  his  opponent,  whom  in- 
deed he  had  got  the  better  of,  but  who  would  not 
yield. 

Romance  has  scarcely  taken  hold,  except  in  ob- 
scure attempts,  upon  the-  juxtaposition  of  these  two 
men ;  but  nothing  seems  more  likely  than  that  some 
profounder  personal  tragedy  lay  at  the  bottom  of 
this  historical  episode.  At  all  events  the  characters 
of  the  two  opponents,  the  doge  and  the  rebel,  are 
strongly  contrasted,  and  fit  for  all  the  uses  of  tra- 
gedy. Had  Venice  possessed  a  Dante,  or  had  Baja- 
monte been  gifted  with  a  poet's  utterance,  who  can 
tell  in  what  dark  cave  of  the  Inferno  the  reader  of 
these  distant  ages  might  not  have  found  the  dark, 
unfriendly  doge,  sternly  determined  to  carry  through 
his  plans,  to  shut  out  contemptuously  from  his  patri- 
cian circle  every  low-born  aspirant,  and  to  betray 
the  beloved  city,  whose  boast  had  always  been  of 
freedom,  into  the  tremendous  fetters  of  a  system 
more  terrible  than  any  despotism?  Gradenigo,  so 
iar  as  he  can  be  identifiied  personally,  would  seem 
1o  have  been  an  excellent  type  of  the  haughty  aris- 
tocrat, scornful  of  the  new  men  who  formed  the  ris- 
ing tide  of  Venetian  life,  and  determined  to  keep  in 
the  place  in  which  they  were  born  the  inferior  popu- 
lace. He  had  been  employed  in  distant  dependencies 
of  the  republic  where  a  state  of  revolt  was  chronic, 
and  where  the  most  heroic  measures  were  necessary; 
and  it  was  clear  to  him  there  must  be  no  hesitation, 


118  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

no  trifling  with  the  forces  below.  When  he  became 
doge  Venice  was  still  to  some  extent  governed  by 
her  old  traditions,  and  it  was  yet  possible  that  the 
democracy  might  have  largely  invaded  her  sacred 
ranks  of  patrician  power.  She  was  ruled  by  an  in- 
tricate and  shifting  magistracy  of  councils,  sages, 
pregadi  (the  simplest  primitive  title,  men  "prayed" 
to  come  and  help  the  doge  with  their  advice),, 
among  whom  it  is  difficult  to  tell  which  was  which, 
or  how  many  there  were,  or  how  long  any  one  man 
held  his  share  of  power  But  when  Perazzo,  Proud 
Peter,  the  man  whom  the  commons  did  not  love,  of 
whom,  no  doubt,  they  had  many  a  story  to  tell, 
ended  his  reign  in  Venice,  the  Great  Council  had 
become  hereditary,  the  old  possibilities  were  all 
ended,  and  the  Council  of  Ten  sat  supreme— an  in- 
stitution altogether  new,  and  as  terrible  as  unknown 
— a  sort  of  shifting  but  permanent  Council  of  Public 
Safety  endowed  with  supreme  and  irresponsible 
power.  A  greater  political  revolution  could  not  be. 
The  armed  revolutionaries  who  carried  sword  and 
flame  throughout  the  city  could  not,  had  they  been 
successful  in  their  conjectured  purpose  of  making 
Bajamonte  lord  of  Venice,  have  accomplished  a 
greater  change  in  the  state  than  was  done  silently 
by  this  determined  man. 

That  he  was  determined  and  prompt  and  bold  is 
evident  from  all  his  acts.  The  rapidity  and  silence 
of  his  preparations  to  rout  the  insurgents ;  the  trap 
in  which  he  caught  them  when,  marching  under 
cover  of  the  thunder  to  surprise  him  in  his  palace, 
they  were  themselves  surprised  in  the  Piazza  by 
a  little  army  more  strong,  because  forewarned,  than 
their  own;  the  brave  face  he  showed  at  another 
period,  even  in  front  of  the  Pope's  excommunica- 
tion, proclaiming  loudly  to  his  distant  envoys,  **We 
are  determined  to  do  all  that  is  in  us,  manfully  and 
promptly,  to  preserve  our  rights  and  our  honor;" 
the  boldness  of  his  tremendous  innovations  upon 
the  very  fabric  of  the  State;  and  that   final  test  of 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  119 

success  which  forcible  character  and  determination 
are  more  apt  than  justice  or  mercy  to  win — leave 
no  doubt  as  to  his  intrinsic  qualities.  He  was  suc- 
cessful, and  his  rival  was  unfortunate ;  he  was  hated, 
and  the  other  was  beloved.  Neither  of  these  two 
figures  stands  prominent  in  picturesque  personal 
detail  out  of  the  pages  of  history.  We  see  them 
only  by  their  acts,  and  only  in  so  far  as  those  acts 
affected  the  great  all-absorbing  story  of  their  city. 
But  the  influence  of  Perazzo  upon  that  history  is 
perhaps  more  remarkable  than  that  of  any  other 
individual,  so  far  as  law  and  sovereignty  are  con- 
cerned. 

The  rebel  leader  was  a  very  different  man.  The 
noble  youth  whom  Venice  called  the  Gran  Cav- 
aliero, — the  young  Cavalier,  as  one  might  say,  like 
our  own  Prince  Charlie — fiery  and  swift,  bidding 
his  kinsman  not  talk  but  act  —the  hope  of  the  elder 
men,  put  forth  by  Marco  Quirini  as  most  worthy  of 
all  to  be  heard  when  the  malcontents  first  gathered 
in  the  palace  near  the  Rialto,  and  ventured  to  tell 
each  other  what  was  in  their  hearts, — could  have 
been  no  common  gallant,  and  yet  would  seem  to 
have  had  the  faults  and  weaknesses  as  well  as  the 
noble  qualities  of  the  careless,  foolhardy  cavalier. 
No  doubt  he  held  his  life  as  lightly  as  any  knight- 
errant  of  the  time ;  yet  when  his  kinsman  fell  in 
the  narrow  entrance  of  the  Merceria,  in  the  wild 
dawning  when  foes  and  friends  were  scarcely  to 
be  distinguished,  Bajamonte,  too,  was  carried 
away  by  the  quick,  imaginary  panic  and  retreated, 
dragged  along  in  the  flight  of  his  discouraged  fol- 
lowers. He  had  not  that  proof  of  earnestness  which 
success  gives,  and  he  had  the  ill  fortune  to  escape 
when  other  men  perished.  The  narrative  which 
Romanin  has  collected  out  of  the  unpublished 
records  of  his  after  life  presents  a  picture  of  restless 
exile,  never  satisfied,  full  of  conspiracies,  hopeless 
plots,  everlasting  spyings  and  treacheries,  which 
make  the  heart  sick.     We  can  only  remember  that 


120  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

Bajamonte  was  no  worse  in  this  respect  than  his 
great  contemporary,  Dante.  And  perhaps  the  two 
exiles  may  have  met,  if  not  on  those  stairs  which  the 
poet  found  so  hard  to  climb,  yet  somewhere  in  the 
wild  roaming  which  occupied  both  their  lives,  full 
of  a  hundred  fruitless  schemes  to  get  back,  this  to 
Florence,  that  to  Venice.  Romanin,  ever  severe 
to  the  rebel,  argues  that  all  circumstances  and  all 
documents  prove  the  hero  of  the  Venetian  tragedy 
to  have  been  *'a  man  of  excessive  ambition,  a  sub. 
verter  of  law  and  order;  in  fact,  a  traitor" — most 
terrible  of  all  reproaches.  But  as  a  matter  of  fact 
it  was  not  he  but  his  adversary  who  subverted  the 
civil  order  of  the  republic,  and  whether  the  young 
Tiepolo  had  a  true  sense  of  patriotism  at  his  heart, 
and  of  patriotic  indignation  against  these  innova.- 
tions,  or  was  merely  one  of  the  many  ambitious 
adventurers  of  the  day,  struck  with  the  idea  of  mak- 
ing himself  Lord  of  Venice  as  the  Scaligeri  were 
lords  in  Padua  on  no  better  title — there  seems  no 
evidence,  and  probably  never  will  be  any  evidence, 
to  show. 

When  Bajamonte  left  Venice  he  proceeded  any- 
where but  to  the  distant  countries  to  which  he  was 
nominally  banished.  Evidently  all  that  was  done 
in  the  way  of  carrying  out  such  a  sentence  was  to 
drive  the  banished  men  out  of  the  confines  of  the 
republic,  leaving  them  free  to  obey  the  further 
orders  of  the  authorities  if  they  chose.  In  this  case 
the  exiles  lingered  about  secretly  for  some  time  in 
neighboring  cities,  watched  by  spies  who  reported 
all  their  actions,  and  especially  those  of  Bajamonte, 
to  the  doge.  When  at  last  he  did  proceed  to  Dal- 
matia,  he  became,  according  to  Romanin,  a  center 
of  conspiracy  and  treason,  and  at  the  bottom  of  the 
endless  rebellions  of  Zara,  which,  however,  had 
rebelled  on  every  possible  occasion  long  before 
Bajamonte  was  born.  It  is  curious  to  find  that  all 
the  chroniclers,  and  even  a  writer  so  recent  and  so 
enlightened    as  Romanin,    should    remain    pitiless 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  121 

toward  all  rebels  against  the  authority  of  the  repub- 
lic. The  picture  this  historian  gives  of  Bajamonte's 
obscure  and  troubled  career,  pursued  from  one 
city  to  another  by  the  spies  and  letters  of  the  Sig- 
noria  warning  all  and  sundry  to  have  nothing  to  do 
with  the  rebel,  and  making  his  attempts  to  re-enter 
life  impossible,  is  a  very  sad  one;  but  no  pity  tor 
the  exile,  ever  moves  the  mind  of  the  narrator.  For 
with  the  Venetian  historian,  as  with  all  other  mem- 
bers of  this  wonderful  commonwealth,  Venice  is 
everything,  and  the  individual  nothing;  nor  are  any 
man's  wrongs  or  suffering  of  any  importance  in 
comparison  with  the  peace  and  prosperity  of  the 
adored  city. 

The  traces  of  this  insurrection  have  in  the  long 
progress  of  years  almost  entirely  disappeared, 
though  at  the  time  many  commemorative  monu- 
ments bore  witness  to  the  greatest  popular  convul- 
sion which  ever  moved  Venice.  The  Tiepolo  palace, 
inhabited  by  Bajamonte,  was  razed  to  the  ground, 
and  a  pillar,  unacolojina  duiiamia^  was  placed  on  the 
spot  with  the  following  inscription: 

"Di  Baiamonte  fo  questo  terreno, 
E  mo*  per  lo  so  Iniqtio  tradimento 
S'e  posto  in  Chomun  per  I'altrui  spavento 
E  per  mostrar  a  lutti  sempre  seno. ' ' 

'*This  was  the  dwelling  of  Bajamonte;  for  his 
wicked  treason  this  stone  is  set  up,  that  others  may 
fear  and  that  it  may  be  a  sign  to  all. "  The  column 
was  broken,  Tassini  tells  us  in  his  curious  and 
valuable  work  upon  the  Streets  of  Venice,  soon 
after  it  was  set  up,  by  one  of  the  followers  of  Tie- 
polo  who  had  shared  in  the  amnesty,  but  whose 
fidelity  to  his  ancient  chief  was  still  too  warm  to 
endure  this  public  mark  of  infamy.  It  was  then 
removed  to  the  close  neighborhood  of   the  parish 

*''Quelmo  del  secondo  verso r  ^stys  Tassini,  '' spiegasi  per 
ORA,  le  quel  Seno  delV  ultimo  per  Sieno,  sotf  intendendovi, 
queste  parole,'* 


122  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

church  of  St.  Agostino,  probably  for  greater  safety; 
afterward  it  was  transferred,  no  longer  as  a  mark 
of  shame  but  as  a  mere  antiquity,  from  one  patri- 
cian's garden  to  another,  till  it  was  finally  lost.  In 
later  times,  when  the  question  was  seriously  dis- 
cussed whether  Bajamonte  was  not  a  patriot  leader 
rather  than  a  traitor,  proposals  were  made  to  raise 
again  the  column  of  shame  as  a  testimony  of  glory 
misunderstood.  But  the  convictions  of  the  rehabil- 
itators  of  the  Gran  Cavaliero  have  not  been  strong 
enough  to  come  to  any  practical  issue.  All  that 
remains  of  him  is  (or  was)  a  white  stone  let  into  the 
pavement  behind  the  now  suppressed  church  of  St. 
Agostino  with  the  inscription  —  "Col:  Bai:  The: 
MCCCX.,"  marking  the  site  of  his  house;  but 
whether  a  relic  of  his  own  age  or  the  work  of  some 
more  recent  sympathizer  we  are  not  told.  On  the 
other  side  of  the  canal  in  the  campo  of  San  Luca 
stood  till  very  recent  times  a  flagstaff,  ornamented 
on  gala  days  with  the  standard  of  the  Scuola  of  the 
Carita  in  remembrance  of  their  victory  over  one 
party  of  the  insurrectionists;-  and  in  the  Merceria, 
not  far  fiiom  the  Piazza,  there  still  exists,  or  lately 
existed,  a  shop  with  the  sign  '"Delia  grazia  del 
morter^''  being  the  same  out  of  which  Giustina  Rossi 
threw  forth  the  flower-pot,  to  the  destruction  of  the 
failing  cause. 

Another  singular  sign  of  disgrace  and  punishment 
was  the  condemnation  of  the  families  of  Quirini 
and  Tiepolo  to  a  change  of  armorial  bearings?^  Had 
they  been  compelled  to  wear  their  arms  reversed, 
or  to  bear  any  other  understood  heraldic  symbol  of 
shame,  this  would  have  been  comprehensible ;  but 
all  that  seems  to  have  been  demanded  of  them  was 
a  change  of  their  bearings,  not  any  ignominious 
sign.  The  authorities  went  so  far  as  to  change  the 
arms  upon  the  shields  of  the  two  defunct  Tiepoli 
doges;  a  most  senseless  piece  of  \'engeance,  since 
it  obliterated  the  shame  which  it  was  intended  to 
enhance.      The   palaces  still     standing   along   thQ> 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  123 

course  of  the  Grand  Canal  which  carry,  rising  from 
their  roofs,  the  two  obelisks  erected  upon  all  the 
houses  of  the  Tiepoli  for  some  reason  unknown  to 
us,  prove  that  in  latter  days  the  race  was  little 
injured  or  diminished  by  its  disgrace  and  punish- 
ment. 

A  much  greater  memorial  of  this  foiled  rebellion, 
however,  still  remains  to  be  noticed.  This  was 
the  institution  of  the  far-famed  Council  of  Ten,  the 
great  tribunal  which  henceforward  reigned  over  the 
republic  with  a  sway  which  was  in  sober  reality 
tremendous  and  appalling,  but  which  is  still  further 
enhanced  by  the  mystery  in  which  all  its  proceed- 
ings were  wrapped,  and  the  impression  made  upon 
an  imaginative  people  by  the  shadow  of  this  great 
secret,  voiceless  tribunal,  every  man  of  which  was 
sworn  to  silence,  and  before  which  any  Venetian  at 
any  moment  might  find  himself  arrainged.  It  was 
professedly  to  guard  against  such  a  danger  as  that 
which  the  republic  had  just  escaped  that  this  new 
tribunal  was  instituted,  *' Because  of  the  new  thing 
which  had  happened,  and  to  guard  against  any 
repetition  of  it. "  Among  the  many  magistratures 
of  the  city  this  was  the  greatest,  most  fatal,  and 
important:  it  held  the  keys  of  life  and  death;  it  was 
responsible  to  no  superior  authority,  permitted  no 
appeal,  and  was  beyond  the  reach  of  public  opinion 
or  criticism,  its  decisions  as  unquestionable  as  they 
were  secret.  The  system  of  denunciation,  the  secret 
documents  dropped  into  the  Bocca  di  Leone,  the 
mysterious  processes  by  which  a  man  might  be  con- 
demned before  he  knew  that  he  had  been  accused, 
have  perhaps  been  exaggerated,  and  Romanin  does 
his  utmost  to  prove  that  the  dreaded  council  was 
neither  so  formidable  nor  so  mysterious  as  romance 
has  made  it  out  to  be.  But  his  arguments  are  but 
poor  in  comparison  with  the  evident  dangers  of  an 
institution,  whose  proceedings  were  wrapped  in 
secrecy  and  which  was  accountable  neither  to  public 
opinion    nor    to    any    higher   tribunal       Political 


124  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

offences  in  otir  own  day  are  judged  more  leniently 
than  crime;  in  those  times  they  were  of  deeper  dye 
than  anything  that  originated  in  private  rage  or 
covetousness.  And  amid  the  family  jealousies  of 
that  limited  society  the  opportunity  thus  given  of 
cutting  off  an  enemy,  undermining  the  reputation 
of  any  offender,  or  spoiling  the  career  of  a  too  pros- 
perous rival,  was  too  tremendous  a  temptation  for 
human  nature  to  resist.  This  formidable  court  was. 
in  conformity  with  the  usual  Venetian  custom,  ap- 
pointed first  for  a  year  only,  as  an  experiment,  and 
with  the  special  purpose  of  forestalling  further 
rebellion  by  the  most  suspicious  and  inquisitive 
vigilance ;  but  once  established  it  was  too  mighty  a 
power  to  be  abandoned,  and  soon  became  an  estab- 
lished institution. 

Thus  the  two  rebellions  did  nothing  but  rivet  the 
chains  which  had  been  woven  about  the  limbs  of  the 
republic.  And  though  there  still  remained  the 
boast  of  freedom,  and  the  City  of  the  Sea  always 
continued  to  vaunt  her  republican  severity  and 
strength,  Venice  now  settled  into  the  tremendous 
framework  of  a  system  which  had  no  room  for  the 
plebeian  or  the  poor ;  more  rigid  than  any  individual 
despotism,  in  which  there  are  always  chances  for 
the  new  man ;  more  autocratic  and  irresponsible 
than  the  government  of  any  absolute  monarch.  The 
Council  of  Ten  completed  the  bonds  which  the 
Serrata  of  the  council  had  made.  The  greatest 
splendors,  if  not  the  greatest  triumphs  of  the  state 
were  yet  to  come,  but  all  the  possibilities  of  poli- 
ical  freedom  and  expansion  w«re  finally  destroyed. 

The  circumstances  which  surrounded  this  new  in- 
stitution were  skillfully,  almost  theatrically  disposed 
to  increase  the  terror  with  which  it  was  soon  regard- 
ed. The  vow  of  secrecy  exacted  from  each  member 
and  from  all  who  appeared  before  them,  the  lion's 
mouth  ever  open  for  denunciations — which,  however 
well-founded  may  be  Romanin's  assertion  that  those 
which  were   anonymous   were   rarely  acted  upon, 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  125 

yet  bore  an  impression  of  the  possibility  of  a  das- 
tardly and  secret  blow,  which  nothing  can  wipe 
out — the  mysterious  manner  in  which  a  man  accused 
was  brought  before  that  tribunal  in  the  dark,  to 
answer  to  judges  only  partially  seen,  with  con- 
sciousness of  the  torture  room  and  all  its  horrors 
near,  if  his  startled  wits  should  fail  him — all  were 
calculated  to  make  the  name  of  the  Ten  a  name  to 
fear.  Nothing  could  be  more  grim  than  the  smile 
of  that  doge  who,  leaving  the  council  chamber  in 
the  early  sunshine  after  a  prolonged  meeting, 
answered  the  unsuspicious  good-morrow  of  the 
great  soldier  whom  he  had  been  condemning,  with 
the  words,  "There  has  been  much  talk  of  you  in  the 
council."  Horrible  greeting,  which  meant  so  much 
more  than  met  the  ear! 

The  Doge  Gradenigo  died  little  more  than  a  year 
after  the  confusion  and  discomfiture  of  his  adversa- 
ries. He  was  conveyed,  without  funeral  honors  or 
any  of  the  respect  usually  shown  to  the  dead,  to  St. 
Cipriano  in  Murano,  where  he  was  buried.  *'The 
usual  funeral  of  princes  was  not  given  to  him," 
says  Caroldo,  '* perhaps  because  he  was  still  under 
the  papal  excommunication,  perhaps  because,  hated 
as  he  was  by  the  people  in  his  lifetime  it  was  feared 
that  some  riot  would  rise  around  him  in  his 
death."  He  who  had  carried  out  the  Serrata^  and 
established  the  Council  of  Ten,  and  triumphed  over 
all  his  personal  opponents,  had  to  skulk  over  the 
lagoon,  privately,  against  all  precedent,  to  his 
grave,  leaving  the  state  in  unparalleld  trouble  and 
dismay.  But  he  had  crushed  the  rebel,  whether 
patriot  or  conspirator,  and  revolutionized  Venice, 
which  was  work  enough  and  success  enough  for  one 
man.  He  died  in  August,  131 1,  a  year  and  some 
months  after  the  banishment  of  Bajamonte  and  the 
end  of  his  rebellion. 


126  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    DOGES   DISGRACED. 

The  history  of  the  two  princes  to  whom  Venice 
has  given  a  lasting  place  in  the  annals  of  the  unfor- 
tunate, those  records  which  hold  a  surer  spell  over 
the  heart  than  any  of  the  more  triumphant  chron- 
icles of  fame,  are  of  less  material  import  to  her  own 
great  story  than  those  chapters  of  self-development 
and  self-construction  which  we  have  surveyed. 
But  picturesque  in  all  things,  and  with  a  dramatic 
instinct  which  rarely  fails  to  her  race,  the  republic, 
even  in  the  height  of  her  vengeance,  and  by  means 
of  the  deprivation  which  has  banished  his  image 
from  among  those  of  her  rulers,  has  made  the  name 
of  the  beheaded  doge,  Marino  Faliero,  one  of  the 
best  known  in  all  her  records.  We  pass  the  row  of 
pictured  faces,  many  of  them  representing  her 
greatest  sons,  till  we  come  to  the  place  where  this 
old  man  is  not,  his  absence  being  doubly  suggestive 
and  carrying  a  human  interest  beyond  that  of  all 
fulfilled  and  perfect  records.  Nor  is  it  without 
significance  in  the  history  of  tho  state,  that  after 
having  finally  suppressed  and  excluded  the  popular 
element  from  all  voice  in  its  councils,  the  great 
oligarchy  which  had  achieved  its  proud  position  by 
means  of  doge  and  people,  should  have  applied 
itself  to  the  less  dangerous  task  of  making  a  puppet 
of  its  nominal  prince,  converting  him  into  a  mere 
functionary  and  ornamental  head  of  the  state.  Such 
words  have  been  applied  often  enough  to  the  con- 
stitutional monarch  of  our  own  highly  refined  and 
balanced  system,  and  it  is  usual  to  applaud  the  strict 
and  honorable  self-restraint  of  our  English  sover- 
eign as  the  brightest  of  royal  qualities;  but  these 
were  strange  to  the  mediaeval  imagination,  which 
had  little  understanding  of  a  prince  who  was  no 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  W 

ruler.  Whether  it  was  in  accordance  with  some 
tremendous  principle  of  action  secretly  conceived 
in  the  minds  of  the  men  who  had  by  a  series  of 
skillful  and  cautious  movements  made  the  parlia- 
ment of  Venice  into  an  assembly  of  patricians,  and 
then  neutralized  that  assembly  b}'-  the  still  more 
startling  power  of  the  Council  of  Ten,  that  this  work 
was  accomplished,  it  is  impossible  to  tell.  It  is 
difficult  indeed  to  imagine  that  such  sl  plan  could  be 
carried  from  generation  to  generation,  though  it 
might  well  be  conceived,  like  Strafford's  ** Thor- 
ough," in  the  subtle  intellect  of  some  one  far-seeing 
legislator.  Probably  the  Venetian  statesmen  were 
but  following  the  current  of  a  tendency  such  as 
serves  all  the  purpose  of  a  foregone  determination 
in  ma,ny  conjunctures  of  human  affairs — a  tendency 
which  one  after  another  leader  caught  or  was  caught 
by,  and  which  swept  toward  its  logical  conclusion 
innumerable  kindred  minds  with  something  of  the 
tragic  cumulative  force  of  those  agencies  of  nature 
against  which  man  can  do  so  little.  It  was,  how- 
ever, a  natural  balance  to  the  defeat  of  the  people 
that  the  doge  also  should  be  defeated  and  bound. 
And  from  the  earliest  days  of  recognized  states- 
manship this  had  been  the  subject  of  continual 
effort,  taking  first  the  form  of  a  jealous  terror  of 
dynastic  succession,  and  gradually  growing,  through 
oaths  more  binding  and  promissiom  more  detailed 
and  stringent,  until  at  length  the  doge  found  him 
self  less  than  the  master,  a  little  more  than  the 
slave,  of  those  fluctuating  yet  consistent  possessors 
of  the  actual  power  of  the  state,  who  had  by  degrees 
gathered  the  entire  government  into  their  hands. 

Marino  Faliero  had  been  an  active  servant  of 
Venice  through  a  long  life.  He  had  filled  almost 
all  the  great  offices  which  were  intrusted  to  her 
nobles.  He  had  governed  her  distant  colonies, 
accompanied  her  armies  in  that  position  of  provedt- 
tore,  omnipotent  civilian  critic  of  all  the  movements 
of   war,  which  so  much  disgusted  the  generals  of 


128  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

the  republic.  He  had  been  ambassador  at  the 
courts  of  both  emperor  and  Pope,  and  was  serving 
his  country  in  that  capacity  at  Avignon  when  the 
news  of  his  election  reached  him.  It  is  thus 
evident  that  Faliero  was  not  a  man  used  to  the  posi- 
tion of  a  lay  figure,  although  at  seventy-six  the  dig- 
nified retirement  of  a  throne,  even  when  so  encir- 
cled with  restrictions,  would  seem  not  inappropriate. 
That  he  was  of  a  haughty  and  hasty  temper  seems 
apparent.  It  is  told  of  him  that,  after  waiting 
long  for  a  bishop  to  head  a  procession  at  Treviso 
where  he  was  podesta  he  astonished  the  tardy 
prelate  by  a  box  on  the  ear  when  he  finally  ap- 
peared, a  punishment  for  keeping  the  authorities 
waiting  which  the  church  man  would  little  expect. 

Old  age  to  a  statesman,  however,  is  in  many 
cases  an  advantage  rather  than  a  defect,  and  Faliero 
was  young  in  vigor  and  character,  and  still  full  of 
life  and  strength.  He  was  married  a  second  time 
to  presumably  a  beautiful  wife  much  younger  than 
himself,  though  the  chroniclers  are  not  agreed  ever 
on  the  subject  of  her  name,  whether  she  was  a 
Gradenigo  or  a  Contarini.  The  well  known  story 
of  young  Steno's  insult  to  this  lady  and  to  her  old 
husband  has  found  a  place  in  all  subsequent  histo- 
ries— but  there  is  no  trace  of  it  in  the  unpublished 
documents  of  the  state.  The  story  goes  that 
Michel  Steno,  one  of  those  young  and  insubordi- 
nate gallants  who  are  a  danger  to  every  aristocratic 
state,  having  been  turned  out  of  the  presence  of 
the  dogaressa  for  some  unseemly  freedom  of  behav- 
ior, wrote  upon  the  chair  of  the  doge  in  boyish 
petulance  an  insulting  taunt,  such  as  might  well 
rouse  a  high-tempered  old  man  to  fury.  According 
to  Sanudo,  the  young  man,  on  being  brought 
before  the  Forty,  confessed  that  he  had  thus 
avenged  himself  in  a  fit  of  passion ;  and  regard 
having  been  had  to  his  age  and  the  '*heat  of  love" 
which  had  been  the  cause  of  his  original  misde- 
meanor, a  reason  seldom  taken  into  account  by  the 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  m 

tribunals  of  the  state,  he  was  condemned  to  prison 
for  two  months,  and  afterward  to  be  banished  for 
a  year  from  Venice.  The  doge  took  this  light  pun- 
ishment greatly  amiss,  considering  it  indeed,  as  a 
further  insult.  Sabellico  says  not  a  word  of 
Michael  Steno,  or  of  this  definite  cause  of  offense, 
and  Romanin  quotes  the  contemporary  records  to 
show  that  though  Alcufit  zovanelh  fioh  de  genitluomim 
dt  VeneUo  are  supposed  to  have  affronted  the  doge, 
no  such  story  finds  a  place  in  any  of  them.  But  the 
old  man  thus  translated  from  active  life  and  power, 
soon  became  bitterly  sensible  in  his  new  position 
that  he  was  senza  pareniado,  with  few  relations,  and 
flouted  by  the  gtovinastri,  the  dissolute  young  gen- 
tlemen who  swaggered  about  the  Broglio  in  their 
finery,  strong  in  the  support  of  fathers  and  uncles 
among  the  Forty  or  the  Ten.  That  he  found  him- 
self at  the  same  time  shelved  in  his  new  rank,  pow- 
erless, and  regarded  as  a  nobody  in  the  state 
where  hitherto  he  had  been  a  potent  signior — 
mastered  in  every  action  by  the  Secret  Tribunal, 
and  presiding  nominally  in  councils  where  his  opin- 
ion was  of  little  consequence — is  evident.  And  a 
man  so  well  acquainted,  and  so  long,  with  all  the 
proceedings  of  the  state,  who  had  been  entering 
middle  age  in  the  days  of  Bajamonte,  who  had  seen 
consummated  the  shutting  out  of  the  people,  and 
since  had  watched  through  election  after  election  a 
gradual  tightening  of  the  bonds  round  the  feet  of 
the  doge,  would  naturally  have  many  thoughts  when 
he  found  himself  the  wearer  of  that  restricted  and 
diminished  crown.  He  could  not  be  unconscious 
of  how  the  stream  was  going,  nor  unaware  of  that 
gradual  sapping  of  privilege  and  decreasing  of 
power  which  even  in  his  own  case  had  gone  further 
than  with  his  predecessor.  Perhaps  he  had  noted 
with  an  indignant  mind  the  new  limits  of  the 
promissione^  a  narrower  charter  than  ever,  when  he 
was  called  upon  to  sign  it.  He  had  no  mind,  we 
may  well  believe,  to  retire  thus  from  the  adrainis- 

0  Venice 


130  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

tration  of  affairs.  And  when  these  giovinastri, 
other  people's  boys,  the  scum  of  the  gay  world, 
flung  their  unsavory  jests  in  the  face  of  the  old 
man,  who  had  no  son  to  come  after  him,  the  silly 
insults  so  lightly  uttered,  so  little  thought  of  the 
natural  scoff  of  youth  at  old  age  stung  him  to  the 
quick. 

And  it  so  happened  that  various  complaints  were 
at  this  moment  presented  to  the  doge  in  which  his 
own  cause  of  offense  was  repeated.  A  certain 
Barbaro,  one  of  the  reigning  class,  asking  some- 
thing at  the  arsenal  of  an  old  sailor,  an  admiral 
high  in  rank  and  in  the  love  of  the  people,  but  not 
a  patrician,  who  was  not  of  his  opinion,  struck  the 
officer  on  the  cheek,  and  wounded  him  with  a 
great  ring  he  wore.  A  similar  incident  occurred 
between  a  Dandolo  and  another  sea  captain,  Ber- 
tuccio  Isarello;  and  in  both  cases  the  injured  men, 
old  comrades  very  probably  of  Faliero,  men  whom 
he  had  seen  representing  the  republic  on  stormy 
seas  or  boarding  the  Genoese  galleys,  carried  their 
complaints  to  the  doge.  "Such  evil  beasts  should 
be  bound,  and  when  they  cannot  be  bound  they  are 
killed!"  cried  one  of  the  irritated  seamen.  Such 
words  were  not  unknown  to  the  Venetian  echoes. 
Not  long  before,  a  wealthy  citizen,  who  in  his  youth 
had  been  of  Bajamonte's  insurrection,  had  breathed 
a  similar  sentiment  in  the  ears  of  another  rich 
plebeian,  after  both  had  expressed  their  indignation 
that  the  consiglio  was  shut  against  them.  The 
second  man  in  this  case  betrayed  the  first,  and  got 
the  much-coveted  admission  in  consequence — he 
and  his;  while  his  friend  made  that  fatal  journey  to 
the  Piazzetta  between  the  columns,  from  which  no 
man  ever  came  back. 

Old  Faliero's  heart  burned  within  him  at  his  own 
injuries  and  those  of  his  old  comrades.  How  he 
was  induced  to  head  the  conspiracy,  and  put  his 
crown,  his  life,  and  honor  on  the  cast,  there  is  no 
further  information.      His  fierce  temper,  and  the 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  M 

fact  that  he  had  no  powerful  house  behind  him  to 
help  to  support  his  case,  probably  made  him  reck- 
less. It  was  in  April  of  1355,  only  six  months  after 
his  arrival  in  Venice  as  doge,  that  the  smoldering 
fire  broke  out.  As  happened  always,  two  of  the 
conspirators  were  seized  with  a  compunction  on  the 
eve  of  the  catastrophe  and  betrayed  the  plot — one 
with  a  merciful  motive  to  serve  a  patrician  he 
loved,  the  other  with  perhaps  less  noble  intentions 
and,  without  a  blow  struck,  the  conspiracy  col- 
lapsed. There  was  no  real  heart  in  it,  nothing  to 
give  it  consistence,  the  hot  passion  of  a  few  men 
insulted,  the  variable  gaseous  excitement  of  those 
wronged  commoners  who  were  not  strong  enough 
or  strenuous  enough  to  make  the  cause  triumph 
under  Bajamonte ;  and  the  ambition,  if  it  was  ambi- 
tion, of  one  enraged  and  affronted  old  man,  without 
an  heir  to  follow  him  or  anything  that  could  make 
it  worth  his  while  to  conquer. 

Did  Faliero  ever  expect  to  conquer,  one  wonders, 
when  he  embarked  at  seventy-seven  on  such  an  en- 
terprise? And  if  he  had,  what  good  could  it  have 
done  him  save  vengeance  upon  his  enemies?  An 
enterprise  more  wild  was  never  undertaken.  It 
was  the  passionate  stand  of  despair  against  a  force 
so  overwhelming  as  to  make  mad  the  helpless,  yet 
not  submissive  victims.  The  doge,  who  no  doubt 
in  former  days  had  felt  it  to  be  a  mere  affair  of  the 
populace,  a  thing  with  which  a  noble  ambassador 
and  proveditore  had  nothing  to  do,  a  struggle 
beneath  his  notice,  found  himself  at  last,  with  fury 
and  amazement,  to  be  a  fellow  sufferer  caught  in 
the  same  toils.  There  seems  no  reason  to  believe 
that  Faliero  consciously  staked  the  remnant  of  his 
life  on  the  forlorn  hope  of  overcoming  that  awful 
and  pitiless  power,  with  any  real  hope  of  establish- 
ing his  own  supremacy.  His  aspect  is  rather  that 
of  a  man  betrayed  by  passion,  and  wildly  forgetful 
of  all  posibility  in  his  fierce  attempt  to  free  himself 
and  get  the  upper  hand.     One  cannot  but  feel,  in 


132  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

that  passion  of  helpless  age  and  unfriendliness, 
something  of  the  terrible  disappointment  of  one  to 
whom  the  real  situation  of  affairs  had  never  been 
revealed  before;  wh9  had  come  home  triumphant  to 
reign  like  the  doges  of  old,  and  only  after  the  ducal 
cap  was  on  his  head  and  the  palace  of  the  state  had 
become  his  home,  found  out  that  the  doge,  like 
the  unconsidered  plebeian,  had  been  reduced  to 
bondage,  his  judgment  and  experience  put  aside  in 
favor  of  the  deliberations  of  a  secret  tribunal,  and 
the  very  boys,  when  they  were  nobles,  at  liberty  to 
jeer  at  his  declining  years. 

The  lesser  conspirators,  all  men  of  the  humbler 
sort, — Calendario,  the  architect,  who  was  then  at 
work  upon  the  palace,  a  number  of  seamen,  and 
other  little-known  persons, — were  hung,  not  like 
greater  criminals,  beheaded  between  the  columns, 
but  strung  up,  a  horrible  fringe,  along  the  side  of 
the  palazzo,  beginning  at  the  two  red  pillars  now 
forming  part  of  the  loggia,  then  apparently  sup- 
porting the  arches  over  a  window  from  which  the 
doge  was  accustomed  to  behold  the  performances 
in  the  Piazza.  The  fate  of  Faliero  himself  is  too 
generally  known  to  demand  description.  Calmed 
by  the  tragic  touch  of  fate,  the  doge  bore  all  the 
humiliations  of  his  doom  with  dignity,  and  was  be- 
headed at  the  head  of  the  stairs  where  he  had  sworn 
the  promissione  on  first  assuming  the  office  of  doge. 
(Not,  however,  it  need  hardly  be  said,  at  the  head 
of  the  Giants'  Staircase,  which  was  not  then  in 
being.)  What  a  contrast  from  that  triumphant  day 
when  probably  he  felt  that  his  reward  had  come  to 
him  after  the  long  and  faithful  service  of  years! 

Death  stills  disappointment  as  well  as  rage;  and 
Faliero  is  said  to  have  acknowledged  the  justice  ot 
his  sentence.  He  had  never  made  any  attempt  to 
justify  or  defend  himself,  but  frankly  and  at  once 
avowed  his  guilt,  and  made  no  attempt  to  escape 
from  its  penalties. 

His  body  was  conveyed  privately  to  the  church  of 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  183 

SS.  Giovanni  and  Paolo,  the  **Zanipolo'*  with 
which  all  visitors  to  Venice  are  so  familiar,  and  was 
buried  in  secrecy  and  silence  in  the  atrio  of  a  little 
chapel  behind  the  great  church ;  where,  no  doubt, 
for  centuries  the  pavement  was  worn  by  many  feet 
with  little  thought  of  who  lay  below.  Even  from 
that  refuge  in  the  course  of  these  centuries  his 
bones  have  been  driven  forth;  but  his  name  re- 
mains in  that  corner  of  the  Hall  of  the  Great  Coun- 
cil which  everybody  has  seen  or  heard  of,  and 
where,  with  a  certain  dramatic  affectation,  the 
painter-historians  have  painted  a  black  veil  across 
the  vacant  place.  "This  is  the  place  of  Marino 
Faliero,  beheaded  for  his  crimes,"  is  all  the  record 
left  of  the  doge  disgraced. 

Was  it  a  crime?  The  question  is  one  which  it  is 
difficult  to  discuss  with  any  certainty.  That  Fali- 
ero desired  to  establish,  as  so  many  had  done  in 
other  cities,  an  independent  despotism  in  Venice, 
seems  entirely  unproved.  It  was  the  prevailing 
fear,  the  one  suggestion  which  alarmed  everybody, 
and  made  sentiment  unanimous.  But  one  of  the 
special  points  which  are  recorded  by  the  chroniclers 
as  working  in  him  to  madness,  was  that  he  was 
senza  parentado^  without  any  backing  of  relationship 
or  allies — sonless,  with  no  one  to  come  after  him. 
How  little  likely,  then,  was  an  old  man  to  embark 
on  such  a  desperate  venture  for  self-aggrandizement 
merely!  He  had,  indeed,  a  nephew  who  was  in- 
volved in  his  fate,  but  apparently  not  so  deeply  as 
to  expose  him  to  the  last  penalty  of  the  law.  The 
incident  altogether  points  more  to  a  sudden  out- 
break of  the  rage  and  disappointment  of  an  old  pub- 
lic servant  coming  back  from  his  weary  labors  for 
the  state,  in  triumph  and  satisfaction,  to  what 
seemed  the  supreme  reward;  and  finding  himself 
no  more  than  a  puppet  in  the  hands  of  remorseless 
masters,  subject  to  the  scoffs  of  the  younger  genera- 
tion— supreme  in  no  sense  of  the  word,  and  with 
his  eyes  opened  by  his  own  suffering,  perceiving  for 


134  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

the  first  time  what  justice  there  was  in  the  oft- 
repeated  protest  of  the  people,  and  how  they  and  he 
alike  were  crushed  under  the  iron  heel  of  that  oli- 
garchy to  which  the  power  of  the  people  and  that  of 
the  prince  were  equally  obnoxious.  The  chroniclers 
of  his  time  were  so  much  at  a  loss  to  find  any  reason 
for  such  an  attempt  on  the  part  of  a  man  7ion  abbi- 
ando  alcum  propinquo  that  they  agree  in  attributing 
it  to  diabolical  inspiration.  It  was  more  probably 
that  fury  which  springs  from  a  sense  of  wrong, 
which  the  sight  of  the  wrongs  of  others  raised  to 
frenzy,  and  that  intolerable  impatience  of  the  im- 
potent— which  is  more  harsh  in  its  hopelessness  than 
the  greatest  hardihood.  He  could  not  but  die  for 
it;  but  there  seems  no  more  reason  to  characterize 
this  impossible  attempt  as  deliberate  treason  than 
to  give  the  same  name  to  many  an  alliance  formed 
between  prince  and  people  in  other  regions — the 
king  and  commons  of  our  early  Stuarts,  for  one — 
against  the  intolerable  exactions  and  cruelty  of  an 
aristocracy  too  powerful  to  be  faced  by  either  alone. 

Francesco  Foscari  was  a  more  innocent  sufferer, 
and  his  story  is  a  most  pathetic  and  moving  tale. 

Seventy  years  had  elapsed  since  the  dethrone- 
ment and  execution  of  Faliero,  the  fifteenth  century 
was  in  its  first  quarter,  and  all  the  complications 
and  crimes  of  that  wonderful  period  were  in  full 
operation  when  the  old  Doge  Tommaso  Mocenigo  on 
his  deathbed  reviewed  the  probable  competitors  for 
his  office,  and  warned  the  republic  specially  against 
Foscari.  The  others  were  all  men  da  be?ie,  but  Fos- 
cari was  proud  and  deceitful,  grasping  and  prodigal, 
and  if  they  elected  him  they  would  have  nothing  but 
wars.  He  was  at  the  same  time,  gravely  adds  one 
of  the  electors  in  the  severe  contest  for  his  election, 
a  man  with  a  large  family,  and  a  young  wife  who 
added  another  to  the  number  once  a  year;  and 
therefore  was  likely  to  be  grasping  and  covetous  so 
far  as  money  was  concerned. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  135 

Notwithstanding  these  evil  prognostications  the 
reign  of  Foscari  was  a  great  one  and  full  of  impor- 
tant events.  He  fulfilled  the  prophecy  of  his  pre- 
decessor in  so  far  that  war  was  perpetual  in  his 
time,  and  the  republic  under  him  involved  itself  in 
all  the  contentions  which  tore  Italy  asunder,  and, 
joining  with  the  Florentines  against  the  victorious 
Lord  of  Milan,  Fillipo  Maria  Visconti,  and  having 
the  good  fortune  to  secure  Carmagnola  for  its  gen- 
eral, became  in  its  turn  aggressive,  and  conquered 
town  after  town;  losing,  retaking,  and  in  one  or 
two  instances  securing  permanently  the  sovereignty 
of  great  historic  cities.  The  story  of  the  great  sol- 
diers of  fortune,  which  is  to  a  large  extent  the  story 
of  the  time,  will  be  told  in  another  chapter,  and  we 
need  not  attempt  to  discover  what  was  the  part  of 
the  doge  in  the  tragedy  of  Carmagnola. 

From  the  limitations  of  the  prince's  power  which 
we  have  indicated  it  will,  however,  be  evident 
enough  that  neither  in  making  war  nor  in  the 
remorseless  punishment  of  treachery,  whether  real 
or  supposed,  could  the  responsibility  rest  with  the 
doge,  who  could  scarcely  be  called  even  the  most 
important  member  of  the  courts  over  which  he 
presided.  It  is  not  until  the  end  of  his  brilliant 
career  that  Francesco  Foscari  separates  himself 
from  the  roll  of  his  peers  in  that  tragic  distinction 
of  great  suffering  which  impresses  an  image  upon 
the  popular  memory  more  deeply  than  the  greatest 
deeds  can  do.  Notwithstanding  the  reference 
quoted  above  to  the  alarming  increase  of  his  fam- 
ily, there  was  left  within  a  few  years,  of  his  five 
sons,  but  one,  Jacopo,  who  was  no  soldier  nor  states- 
man, but  an  elegant  young  man  of  his  time,  full  of 
all  the  finery,  both  external  and  internal,  of  the 
Renaissance,  a  Greek  scholar  and  collector  of 
manuscripts,  a  dilettante  and  leader  of  the  golden 
youth  of  Venice,  who  were  no  longer,  as  in  the  stout 
days  of  the  republic,  trained  to  encounter  the  clang 
of  arms  and  the  uncertainties  of  the  sea.      The  bat- 


136  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

ties  of  Terra  Firm  a  were  conducted  by  mercenaries, 
under  generals  who  made  of  war  a  costly  and  long- 
drawn-out  game;  and  the  young  nobles  of  the  day 
haunted  the  Broglio  under  the  arches  of  the  pal- 
azzo,  or  schemed  and  chattered  in  the  antecham- 
bers, or  spread  their  gay  plumes  to  the  sun  in  fes- 
tas  and  endless  parties  of  pleasure.  When  Jacopo 
Foscari  was  married  the  splendor  of  his  marriage 
feast  was  such  that  even  the  gravest  of  historians, 
amid  all  the  crowdmg  incidents  6f  the  time,  pauses 
to  describe  the  wedding  procession.  A  bridge  was 
thrown  across  the  canal  opposite  the  Foscari  palace, 
over  which  passed  a  hundred  splendid  young  cava- 
liers on  horseback,  making  such  a  show  as  must 
have  held  all  Venice  breathless;  caracoling  cau- 
tiously over  the  temporary  pathway  not  adapted  for 
such  passengers,  and  making  their  way,  one  does 
not  quite  understand  how,  clanging  and  sliding 
along  the  stony  ways,  up  and  down  the  steps  of  the 
bridges  to  the  Piazza,  where  a  tournament  was  held 
in  honor  of  the  occasion.  They  were  all  in  the 
finest  of  clothes,  velvets  and  satins  and  cloth  of 
gold,  with  wonderful  calze,  one  leg  white  and  the 
other  red,  and  various  braveries  more  fine  than  had 
ever  been  seen  before.  The  bride  went  in  all  her 
splendor,  silver  brocade  and  jewels  sparkling  in  the 
sun,  in  a  beautiful  and  graceful  procession  of  boats 
to  San  Marco.  She  was  a  Contarini,  a  neighbor 
from  one  of  the  great  palaces  on  the  same  side. 
The  palace  of  the  Foscari,  as  it  now  stands  in  the 
turn  of  the  canal  ascending  toward  the  Rialto,  had 
just  been  rebuilt  by  Doge  Francesco  in  its  present 
form,  and  was  the  center  of  all  these  festivities;  the 
house  of  the  bride  being  near,  in  the  neighborhood 
of  San  Barnaba.  No  doubt  the  hearts  of  the 
Foscari  and  all  their  retainers  must  have  been  up- 
lifted by  the  glories  of  a  festa  more  splendid  than 
had  ever  been  given  in  Venice  on  such  an  occasion. 
But  this  brilliant  sky  soon  clouded  over.  Only 
three    years    after    Jacopo    fell    under    suspicion 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  137 

of  having  taken  bribes  to  promote  the  interests  of 
various  suitors,  and  to  have  obtained  offices  and 
pensions  for  them  per  brogho;  that  is  to  say,  in  the 
endless  schemes,  consultations,  exchanges,  and 
social  conspiracies  ot  the  general  meeting  place,  the 
Broglio,  a  name  which  stood  for  all  the  jobbing  and 
backstairs  influences  which  flourish  not  less  in  re- 
publics than  in  despotisms.  Against  this  offense, 
when  found  out,  the  laws  were  very  severe,  and 
Jacopo  was  sentenced  to  banishment  to  Naples, 
where  he  was  to  present  himself  daily  to  the  re- 
presentative of  the  republic  there — a  curious  kind  of 
penalty  according  to  our  present  ideas.  Jacopo, 
however,  fled  to  Trieste,  where,  happily  for  himself, 
he  fell  ill,  and  after  some  months  was  allowed  to 
change  his  place  of  exile  to  Treviso,  and  finally,  on  a 
pathetic  appeal  from  the  doge,  was  pardoned  and 
allowed  to  return  to  Venice. 

Three  years  afterward,  however,  a  fatal  event 
occurred,  the  assassination  of  one  of  the  Council  of 
Ten  who  had  condemned  Jacopo, — Ermolao  Do- 
nato, — who  was  stabbed  as  he  left  the  palace  after 
one  of  its  meetings.  The  evidence  which  connected 
Jacopo  with  this  murder  seems  of  the  slightest. 
One  of  his  servants,  a  certain  Olivieri,  met  on  the 
road  to  Mestre,  almost  immediately  after,  one  of 
the  house  of  Gritti,  and  being  asked  *'What  news?" 
replied  by  an  account  of  this  assassination,  a  fact 
which  it  was  barely  possible  he  could  have  heard  of 
by  common  report  before  he  left  Venice.  This 
was  considered  sufficient  to  justify  the  man's  arrest 
and  examination  by  torture,  which  made  him  con- 
fess everything,  Sanudo  tells  us.  Jacopo,  too,  was 
exposed  to  this  method  of  extorting  the  truth,  but 
*' because  of  his  bodily  weakness,  and  of  some 
words  of  incantation  employed  by  him,  the  truth 
could  not  be  obtained  from  his  mouth,  as  he  only 
murmured  between  his  teeth  certain  unintelligible 
words  when  undergoing  the  torture  of  the  rack." 
In  these  circumstances  he  had  a  mild  sentence  and 


138  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

was  banished  to  the  island  of  Candia.  Here  the 
exile,  separated  from  all  he  loved  and  from  all  the 
refinements  of  the  life  he  loved,  was  not  long  at  rest. 
He  took,  according  to  one  account,  a  singular  and 
complicated  method  of  further  incriminating  himself 
and  thus  procuring  his  return  to  Venice,  it  even  to 
fresh  examination  and  torture — by  writing  a  letter 
to  the  Duke  of  Milan,  against  whom  the  republic 
had  fought  so  long,  asking  his  intercession  with  the 
Signoria;  a  letter  which  he  never  intended  to  reach 
the  person  to  whom  it  was  addressed,  but  only  to 
induce  the  jealous  council  to  whom  it  was  artfully 
betrayed  to  recall  him  for  further  question ;  which 
at  last,  in  the  middle  of  whatever  sufferings,  would 
give  his  impatient  heart  a  sight  of  those  from  whom 
he  had  been  separated.  That  it  should  have  been 
possible  even  to  invent  such  a  story  of  him  conveys 
a  kind  of  revelation  of  the  foolish,  hot-headed,  yet 
tender-hearted  being,  vainly  struggling  among 
natures  so  much  too  strong  for  him — which  sheds 
the  light  of  many  another  domestic  tragedy  upon 
this. 

The  matter  would  seem,  however,  to  have  been 
more  serious,  though  Romanin's  best  investigations 
bring  but  very  scanty  proof  ot  the  graver  accusation 
brought  against  the  banished  man ;  which  was  that 
of  an  attempt  on  Jacopo's  part  to  gain  his  freedom 
by  means  of  the  Sultan  and  the  Genoese,  the  ene- 
mies of  the  republic.  The  sole  document  given  in 
proof  of  this  is  a  letter  written  by  the  council  to  the 
Governor  of  Candia,  in  which  the  account  of  the 
attempt,  given  in  his  own  communication  to  them, 
is  repeated  in  detail — ot  itself  a  somewhat  doubtful 
proceeding.  To  say  "You  told  us  so  and  so,"  is 
seldom  received  as  independent  proof  of  alleged 
facts.  There  are,  however,  letters  in  cipher  re- 
ferred to,  which  may  have  given  authentication  to 
these  accusations.  Romanin,  however,  is  so  mani- 
festly anxious  to  justify  the  authorities  of  Venice 
and  to  sweep  away  the  romance  which  he   declares 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  130 

to  have  gathered  about  these  terrible  incidents,  that 
the  reader  can  scarcely  avoid  a  certain  reaction  of 
suspicion  against  the  too  great  warmth  of  the  de- 
fense. Some  personal  touches  may,  no  doubt,  have 
been  added  by  adverse  historians  to  heighten  the 
picture.  But  it  would  be  wiser  for  even  the  patri- 
otic Venetian  to  admit  that,  at  least  three  times  in 
that  cruel  century — in  the  case  of  the  Carrari  mur- 
dered in  their  prison,  in  that  of  Carmagnola  be- 
guiled into  the  cell  from  which  he  came  out  only  to 
die,  and  in  that  of  the  unfortunate  Foscari — that 
remorseless  and  all-powerful  Council  of  Ten,  re- 
sponsible to  no  man,  without  any  safeguard  even  of 
publicity,  who  were  too  much  feared  to  be  resisted 
and  all  whose  proceedings  were  wrapped  in  seeming 
impenetrability,  stands  beyond  the  possibility  of 
defense.  There  are  few  historians  who  do  not  find 
it  necessary  to  acknowledge  at  some  points  that  the 
most  perfect  of  human  governments  has  failed,  but 
this  the  Venetian  enthusiast — and  all  Venetians  are 
enthusiasts — is  extremely  reluctant  to  do. 

Poor  Jacopo,  with  his  weak  mind  and  his  weak 
body,  and  the  lightness  ot  nature  which  both  friends 
and  foes  admitted,  perhaps  rejoicing  in  the  success 
of  his  stratagem,  perhaps  troubled  in  the  conscious- 
ness of  guilt,  but  yet  with  a  sort  of  foolish  happiness 
anyhow  in  coming  home,  and  hoping,  as  such  san- 
guine people  do,  m  some  happy  chance  that  might 
make  all  right,  was  brought  back  in  custody  of  one 
of  the  Ten — a  Loredano,  the  enemy  of  his  house, 
who  had  been  sent  to  fetch  him.  It  would  seem 
that  when  the  unfortunate  prisoner  was  brought 
before  this  awftil  tribunal,  he  confessed  everything; 
^^ />/^/2^,  says  Sanudo,  spontaneamente,  adds  Romanin, 
probably  forgetting  the  horrible  torture  chamber 
next  door,  which  Jacopo  had  too  good  reason  to 
remember,  and  to  avoid  which  this  easy-going  and 
light-minded  sinner,  intent  only  upon  seeing  once 
again  those  whom  he  loved,  would  be  ready  enough 
to  say  whatever  their  illustrious  worships  pleased. 


140  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

The  stern  Loredano  would  have  had  him  beheaded 
between  the  columns;  but  even  the  Ten  and  their 
coadjutors  were  not  severe  enough  for  that;  and  his 
sentence  was  only,  after  all,  to  be  retransported  to 
Candia  and  to  spend  a  year  in  prison  there — a 
sentence  which  makes  any  real  and  dangerous  con- 
spiracy on  his  part  very  unlikely.  When  the  sen- 
tence was  given,  his  prayer — to  which  he  had,  as 
some  say,  thus  risked  his  head — that  he  might  see 
his  family  was  laid  before  the  court.  The  doge  and 
all  other  relations  had  been  during  the  proceedings 
against  him  excluded,  according  to  the  law,  from 
the  sittings  of  the  council;  so  that  the  statement 
that  he  was  sentenced  by  his  father  is  pure  romance. 
His  petition  was  granted,  and  father  and  mother, 
wife  and  children,  were  permitted  to  visit  the 
unfortunate.  When  the  moment  of  farewell  came, 
it  was  not  in  his  prison,  but  in  the  apartments  of  the 
doge,  that  the  last  meeting  took  place.  Poor 
Jacopo,  always  light-minded,  never  able  apparently 
to  persuade  himself  that  all  this  misery  was  in  ear- 
nest, and  could  not  be  put  aside  by  the  exertions  of 
somebody,  made  yet  one  more  appeal  to  his  father 
in  the  midst  of  the  sobs  and  kisses  of  the  unhappy 
family.  "Father,  I  beseech  you,  make  them  let 
me  go  home, "  he  said  to  the  poor  old  doge,  who 
knew  too  well  how  little  he  could  do  to  help  or  suc- 
cor. ^'  Padre,  vi  pre  go  proaire  per  mi  che  ritor?it  a  casa 
mia:''  as  if  he  had  been  a  school-boy  caught  in 
some  trifling  offense,  with  that  invincible  ignorance 
of  the  true  meaning  of  things  which  the  Catholic 
Church,  with  fine  human  instinct,  acknowledges  as 
a  ground  of  salvation.  But  it  is  not  an  argument 
which  tells  with  men.  "Jacopo,  go;  obey  the  will 
of  the  country,  and  try  no  more,"  said  the  doge 
with  the  simplicity  of  despair.  No  romance  is 
needed  to  enhance  the  pathos  of  this  scene. 

When  the  exile  had  departed  pity  would  seem  to 
have  touched  the  hearts  of  various  spectators,  and 
by  their  exertions,  six  months  later,  his  pardon  was 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  141 

obtained.  But  too  late.  Before  the  news  could 
reach  him  the  unhappy  Jacopo  had  gone  beyond 
the  reach  of  all  human  recall. 

The  aged  doge,  the  father  of  this  unfortunate 
young  man,  had  been  the  head  of  the  Venetian 
state  through  one  of  the  most  brilliant  and  splendid 
periods  of  its  history.  He  had  been  always  at  war, 
as  his  predecessor  had  prophesied :  but  his  wars  had 
been  often  victorious  for  the  republic,  and  had 
added  greatly,  for  the  time  at  least,  to  her  territories 
and  dominion.  Whether  these  acquisitions  were  of 
any  real  advantage  to  Venice  is  another  question. 
They  involved  a  constant  expenditure  of  money 
such  as  is  ruinous  to  most  states,  but  the  glory  and 
the  triumph  were  alwa5^s  delightful  to  her.  Foscari 
had  held  the  place  of  a  great  prince  in  the  estima- 
tion of  the  world,  and  his  life  had  been  princely  at 
home  in  every  way  that  can  affect  the  imagination 
and  stimulate  the  pride  of  a  nation;  he  had  received 
the  greatest  personages  in  Christendom,  the  emper- 
ors, of  the  East  and  of  the  West,  and  entertained 
them  royally  to  the  gratification  and  pride  of  all 
Venice ;  he  had  beautified  the  city  with  new  build- 
ings and  more  commodious  streets;  he  had  made 
feasts  and  pageants  more  magnificent  than  ever  had 
been  seen  before.  But  for  the  last  dozen  years  of 
this  large,  princely,  and  splendid  life  a  cloud  had 
come  over  all  its  glory  and  prosperity.  There  is  no 
lack  of  parallels  to  give  the  interested  spectator  an 
understanding  of  what  a  son  such  as  Jacopo — so 
reckless,  so  light-minded,  so  incapable  of  any  serious 
conception  of  the  meaning  of  life  and  its  risks  and 
responsibilities,  yet  with  so  many  claims  in  his 
facile,  affectionate  nature  upon  those  who  loved  him 
— must  have  been  to  the  father,  proud  of  his  many 
gifts,  bowed  down  by  his  follies,  watching  his  erratic 
course  with  sickening  terrors;  angry,  tender,  indig- 
nant, pitiful;  concealing  his  own  disappointment 
and  misery  in  order  to  protect  and  excuse  and 
defend  the  son  who  was  breaking  his  heart.       The 


142  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

Spectacle  is  always  a  sad  one,  but  never  rare ;  and 
the  anguish  of  the  father's  silent  watch,  never 
knowing  what  folly  might  come  next,  acutely  feel- 
ing the  fault  and  every  reproof  of  the  fault,  his 
prid3  humbled,  his  name  disgraced,  his  every  hope 
failing,  but  never  the  love  that  underlies  all — is  one 
of  the  deepest  which  can  affect  humanity.  Foscari 
was  over  seventy  when  this  ordeal  began.  Perhaps 
he  had  foreseen  it  even  earlier;  but  when  he  made 
that  most  splendid  of  feasts  at  his  son's  bridal,  and 
saw  him  established  with  his  young  wife  in  the 
magnificent  new  palace,  with  his  books  and  his  manu- 
scripts, his  chivalrous  and  courtly  companions,  his 
Greek, — the  crown  of  accomplishment  and  culture 
in  his  time, — who  could  suppose  that  Jacopo  would 
so  soon  be  a  fugitive  and  an  exile?  The  years 
between  seventy  and  eighty  are  not  those  in  which 
a  man  is  most  apt  to  brave  the  effects  of  prolonged 
anxiety  and  sorrow,  and  Foscari  was  eighty-four 
when,  after  the  many  vicissitudes  of  this  melancholy 
story,  he  bade  Jacopo  go  and  bear  his  sentence  and 
try  no  more  to  elude  it.  When  the  news  came  six 
months  after  that  his  only  son  was  dead — dead  far 
away  and  alone,  among  strangers,  just  when  a 
troubled  hope  had  arisen  that  he  might  come  back, 
and  be  wiser  another  time — the  courage  of  the  old 
doge  broke  down.  He  could  no  longer  give  his 
mind  to  the  affairs  of  the  state,  or  sit,  a  venerable 
image  of  sorrow,  patience,  and  self-control,  at  the 
head  of  the  court  which  had  persecuted  and  hunted 
to  the  death  his  foolish,  beloved  boy.  One  can 
imagine  how  the  very  touch  of  the  red  robe  of. 
Loredano  brushing  by  would  burn  to  the  heart  the 
old  man  who  could  not  avenge  himself,  but  in  whom 
even  the  stillness  of  his  age  and  the  habit  of  self- 
command  could  not  take  away  the  recollection  that 
there  stood  the  man  who  had  voted  death  betweer 
the  columns  for  poor  Jacopo's  follies!  Who  coulc 
wonder  that  he  forbore  to  attend  their  meetings, 
and  that  in  the  bitterness  of  his  heart  it  seemed  not 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  143 

worth  while  to  go  on  appearing  to  fulfil]  an  office  all 
the  real  power  of  which  had  been  taken  from  his 
hands? 

Thereupon  there  got  up  a  low,  fierce  murmur 
among  the  Ten ;  not  too  rapidly  developed.  They 
waited  a  month  or  two,  marking  all  his  absences 
and  slackness  before  gathering  together  to  talk  of 
matters  secrettsstme  concerning  Messer  lo  Doge; 
they  said  to  each  other  that  it  was  a  great  inconve- 
nience to  the  state  to  have  a  doge  incapable  of  attend- 
ing the  councils  and  looking  after  the  affairs  ot  the 
republic;  and  that  it  was  full  time  they  should  have 
a  zonta  or  junta  of  nobles  to  help  them  to  discuss  the 
question.  The  law  had  been  that  in  case  of  the 
absence  (which  often  happened  on  state  affairs)  or 
illness  of  the  doge,  a  vice-doge  should  be  elected  in 
his  place ;  but  of  this  regulation  no  heed  was  taken, 
and  the  issue  of  their  deliberations  was  that  a  depu- 
tation should  be  sent  to  the  doge  to  desire  him 
spontaneamente  e  libramente  to  resign  his  office.  Fos- 
cari  had  more  than  once  in  his  long  tenure  of  office 
proposed  to  retire,  but  his  attempt  at  resignation 
had  never  been  received  by  the  council.  It  is  one 
thing  to  make  such  an  offer,  and  quite  another  to 
have  it  proposed  from  outside;  and  when  the 
deputation  -suddenly  appeared  in  the  sorrowful 
chamber  where  the  old  man  sat  retired,  he  refused 
to  give  them  any  immediate  answer.  For  one  thing 
it  was  not  their  business  to  make  such  a  demand, 
the  law  requiring  that  the  Consiglio  Maggiore  should 
be  consulted,  and  shoald  at  least  agree  in,  if  not 
originate,  so  important  an  act.  But  the  Ten  had 
perhaps  gone  too  far  to  draw  back,  and  when  the 
deputation  returned  without  a  definite  reply,  the 
ceremonial  of  waiting  for  the  spontaneous  and  free 
dismission  of  the  disgraced  prince  was  thrown  aside, 
and  an  intimation  was  made  to  him  that  his  resig- 
nation was  a  matter  of  necessity,  and  that,  if  within 
eight  days  he  had  not  left  the  palace,  his  property 
would  be  confiscated.     When  this  arbitrary  message 


144  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

was  conveyed  to  him  the  old  man  attempted  no 
further  resistance.  His  ducal  ring  was  drawn  from 
his  finger  and  broken  to  pieces  in  the  presence  ot 
the  deputation  who  had  brought^  him  these  final 
orders,'headed  by  his  enemy  Loredano — not,  says 
the  apologetic  historian,  because  he  was  Foscari's 
enemy,  which  was  a  cruelty  the  noble  Ten  were 
incapable  of,  but  because  he  was,  after  Foscari  him- 
self, the  finest  orator  of  the  republic  and  most  likely 
to  put  things  in  a  good  light !  The  ducal  cap  with 
its  circulet  of  gold,  the  historical  Corno,  was  taken 
from  his  tremulous  old  head,  and  a  promise  extracted 
that  he  would  at  once  leave  the  palace.  The  follow- 
ing incident  is  too  touching  not  to  be  given  in  the 
words  quoted  by  Romanin  from  the  unpublished 
chronicles  of  Delfino.  As  the  procession  of  deputies 
filed  away,  the  discrowned  doge  saw  one  of  them, 
Jacopo  Memmo,  one  of  the  heads  of  the  Forty,  look 
at  him  with  sympathetic  and  compassionate  eyes. 
The  old  man's  heart,  no  doubt,  was  full,  and  a 
longing  for  human  fellowship  must  have  been  in 
him  still.  He  called  the  man  who  gave  him  that 
friendly  look  and  took  him  by  the  hand. 

•*  'Whose  son  art  thou?'*  [It  is  the  Venetian 
vernacular  that  is  used,  not  ceremonious  Italian, 
''Di  cht  es  tu  ftoV'l^  I  answered,  *I  am  the  son  of 
Marin  Memmo. '  To  which  the  doge — *He  is  my 
dear  friend;  tell  him  from  me  that  it  would  be  sweet 
to  me  if  he  would  come  and  pay  me  a  visit,  and  go 
with  me  in  my  bark  for  a  little  pleasure.  We  might 
go  and  visit  the  monasteries.*  " 

It  is  difficult  to  read  this  simple  narrative  without 
a  sympathetic  tear.  Despoiled  of  the  vestments  of 
his  office  which  he  had  worn  for  thirty-tour  years, 
amid  all  the  magnificence  of  one  of  the  richest  and 
most  splendid   states   in   the   world,    the  old  man 

*  "  Di  chi  es  tu  fio?  Rispose,  lo  son  figlio  di  Messere  Marin 
Memmo.  Al  chi  il  doxe,  L'e  mio  caro  compagno ;  dilli  da  mia 
parte  che  avero  caro  ch'  el  mi  vegna  a  visitar,  accio  el  vegna 
con  mi  in  barca  a  solazzo:  andaremo  a  visitare  i  monastieri." 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  145 

pauses,  with  a  tremulous  smile  more  sad  than  weep- 
ing, to  make  his  last  gracious  invitation — the  habit 
of  his  past  sovereignty  exercised  once  more,  at 
once  with  sorrowful  humor,  and  that  wistful  turning 
to  old  friends  which  so  often  comes  with  trouble. 
If  it  had  ever  been  accomplished,  what  a  touching 
party  of  pleasure !  the  •  two  old  men  in  their  barca 
going  forth  a  solazzoy  making  their  way  across  the 
shining  waters  to  San  Giorgio,  perhaps  as  far  as 
San  Servolo  if  the  weather  were  fine ;  for  it  was 
October,  and  no  time  to  be  lost  before  the  winter 
set  in  for  the  two  old  companions,  eighty  and  more. 
But  that  voyage  of  pleasure  never  was  made. 

The  same  day  the  doge  left  the  palace  where  he 
had  spent  so  many  years  of  glory  and  so  many  of 
sorrow,  accompanied  by  his  old  brother  Marco,  and 
followed  sadly  by  his  household  and  relations. 
'''Seremisstmo^''  said  Marco  Foscari,  *'it  is  better  to 
go  to  the  boat  by  the  other  stair,  which  is  covered." 
But  the  old  doge  held  on  in  the  direction  he  had 
first  taken.  "I  will  go  down  by  the  same  stair 
which  I  came  up  when  I  was  made  doge,"  he  said, 
much  as  Faliero  had  done.  And  then  the  mourn- 
ful procession  rode  away  along  the  front  of  the 
palace,  past  all  the  boats  that  lay  round  the  doganay 
between  the  lines  of  great  houses  on  either  side  of 
the  canal,  to  the  new  shining  palace,  scarcely  faded 
from  its  first  splendor,  where  Jacopo  sixteen  years 
before  had  taken  his  bride.  The  house  that  has 
seen  so  many  generations  since  and  vicissitudes  ot 
life  still  stands  there  at  its  corner,  the  water  sweep- 
ing round  two  sides  ot  it,  and  the  old  gate- way, 
merlatOy  in  its  ancient  bravery,  on  the  smaller  canal 
behind. 

This  was  on  the  24th  October,  1357.  The  new 
doge  was  elected  on  the  31st,  and  on  the  ist  Novem- 
ber Francesco  Foscari  died.  The  common  story 
goes  that  the  sound  of  the  bell  which  announced  the 
entry  of  his  successor  was  the  old  man's  final  death- 
blow, but  it  is  unnecessary  to  add  this  somewhat 

10  Venice 


146  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

coarse  touch  ot  popular  effect  to  the  pathetic  story. 
The  few  days  which  elapsed  between  the  two  events 
were  not  too  much  for  the  operation  of  dying,  which 
is  seldom  accomplished  in  a  moment.  When  the 
new  prince  and  his  court  assembled  in  San  Marco 
on  All  Saints'  Day  to  Mass,  Andrea  Donato,  the  old 
doge's  son-in-law,  came  in  and  announced,  no  doubt 
with  a  certain  solemn  satisfaction  and  consciousness 
of  putting  these  conspirators  forever  in  the  wrong, 
the  death  of  Foscari.  The  councillors  who  had 
pursued  him  to  his  end  looked  at  each  other  mute, 
with  eyes,  let  us  hope,  full  of  remorse  and  shame. 
And  he  had  a  magnificent  funeral,  which  is  always 
so  easy  to  bestow.  The  Corno  was  taken  again  from 
the  head  of  the  new  doge  to  be  put  on  the  dead 
brows  of  the  old,  and  he  lay  in  state  in  the  hall  from 
which  he  had  been  expelled  a  week  before,  and  was 
carried,  with  every  magnificence  the  republic  could 
give,  to  the  noble  church  of  the  Frari,  with  tapers 
burning  all  the  way,  and  every  particular  of  solemn 
pomp  that  custom  authorized.  There  he  lies  under 
a  weight  of  sculptured  marble,  his  sufferings  all 
over  for  five  hundred  years  and  more ;  but  never 
the  story  of  his  greatness,  his  wrongs,  and  sorrows, 
\yhich  last  gave  him  such  claims  upon  the  recollec- 
tion of  mankind  as  no  magnificence  nor  triumph 
can  bestow. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  147 


PART  II.— BY  SEA  AND  BY  LAND. 


CHAPTER  I. 


THE    travelers:  NISECOLO,   MATTEO  and  MARCO  POLO. 

In  the  middle  of  the  thirteenth  century  two 
brothers  of  the  Venetian  family  of  Polo,  established 
for  a  long  time  in  the  parish  of  San  Giovanni  Cris- 
ostomo,  carrying  on  their  business  in  the  midst  of 
all  the  tumults  of  the  times  as  if  there  had  been 
nothing  but  steady  and  peaceful  commerce  in  the 
world,  were  at  the  head  of  a  mercantile  house  at 
Constantinople,  probably  the  branch  establishment 
of  some  great  counting  house  at  Venice.  These 
seem  prosaic  terms  to  use  in  a  story  so  full  of 
adventure  and  romance ;  yet,  no  doubt,  they  repre- 
sent, as  adequately  as  the  changed  aspect  of  mer- 
cantile life  allows,  the  condition  of  affairs  under 
which  Niccolo  and  Matteo  Polo  exercised  their 
vocation  in  the  great  Eastern  capital  of  the  world. 
Many  Venetian  merchants  had  established  their 
warehouses  and  pursued  the  operations  of  trade  in 
Constantinople  in  the  security  which  the  repeated 
treaties  and  covenants  frequently  referred  to  in 
previous  chapters  had  gained  for  them,  and  which, 
under  whatsoever  risks  of  convulsion  and  rebellion, 
they  had  held  since  the  days  when  first  a  Venetian 
Bailo — an  officer  more  powerful  than  a  consul,  with 
something  like  the  rights  and  privileges  of  a  gov- 
ernor— was  settled  in  Constantinople.  But  the 
ordinary  risks  were  much  increased  at  the  time 
when  the  Latin  dynasty  was  drawing  near  its  last 
moments,  and  Paleologus  was  thundering  at  the 
gates.     The  Venetians  were  on  the    side  of  the 

147 


148  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

falling  race ;  their  constant  rivals,  the  Genoese,  had 
taken  that  of  the  rising ;  and,  no  doubt,  the  position 
was  irksome  as  well  as  dangerous  to  those  who  had 
been  the  favored  nation,  and  once  the  conquerors 
and  all  potent  rulers  of  the  great  capital  of  the  East. 
Many  of  the  bolder  spirits  would,  no  doubt,  be 
urged  to  take  an  active  part  in  the  struggle  which 
was  going  on;  but  its  effect  upon  Niccolo  and 
Matteo  Polo  was  different.  The  unsatisfactory  state 
of  affairs  prompted  them  to  carry  their  merchandise 
further  East,  where  they  had,  it  is  supposed, 
already  the  standing  ground  of  a  small  establish- 
ment at  Soldachia,  on  the  Crimean  peninsula. 
Perhaps,  however,  it  is  going  too  far  to  suppose 
that  the  commotions  in  Constantinople,  and  not 
some  previously  arranged  expedition  with  milder 
motives,  determined  the  period  of  their  departure. 
At  all  events,  the  dates  coincide. 

The  two  brothers  set  out  in  1260,  when  the  con- 
flict was  at  its  height,  and  all  the  horrors  of  siege 
and  sack  were  near  at  hand.  They  left  behind 
them,  it  would  appear,  an  elder  brother  still  at  the 
head  of  the  family  counting  house  at  Constantino- 
ple, and,  taking  with  them  an  easily  carried  stock 
of  jewels,  went  forth  upon  the  unknown  but  largely 
inhabited  world  of  Central  Asia,  full,  as  they  were 
aware,  of  wonders  of  primitive  manufacture,  car- 
pets and  rich  stuffs,  ivory  and  spices,  furs  and 
leather.  The  vast,  dim  empires  of  the  East,  where 
struggles  and  conquests  had  been  going  on,  more 
tremendous  than  all  the  wars  of  Europe,  though 
under  the  veil  of  distance  and  barbarism  uncom- 
prehended  by  the  civilized  world,  had  been  vaguely 
revealed  by  the  messengers  of  Pope  Innocent  IV., 
and  had  helped  the  Crusaders  at  various  points 
against  their  enemies  the  Saracens.  But  neither 
they  nor  their  countries  were  otherwise  known 
when  these  two  merchants  set  out.  They  plunged 
into  the  unknown  from  Soldachia,  crossing  the  Sea 
of  Azof,  or  traveling  along  its  eastern  shores,  and 


The  makers  of  venice.  149 

working  their  way  slowly  onward,  sometimes 
lingering  in  the  tents  of  a  great  chief,  sometimes 
arrested  by  a  bloody  war  which  closed  all  passage, 
made  their  way  at  last  to  Bokharat,  where  all  fur- 
ther progress  seemed  at  an  end,  and  where  they 
remained  three  years,  unable  either  to  advance  or 
to  go  back.  Here,  however,  they  had  the  good 
fortune  to  be  picked  up  by  certain  envoys  on  their 
way  to  the  court  of  "the  Great  Khan,  the  lord  of  all 
the  Tartars  in  the  world" — sent  by  the  victorious 
prince  who  had  become  master  of  the  Levant  to 
that  distant  and  mysterious  potentate.  These  am- 
bassadors, astonished  to  see  the  Prankish  travelers 
so  far  out  of  the  usual  track,  invited  the  brothers  to 
join  them,  assuring  them  that  the  Great  Khan  liad 
never  seen  any  Latins,  and  would  give  them  an 
eager  welcome.  With  this  escort  the  two  Vene- 
tians traveled  far  into  the  depths  of  the  unknown 
land  until  they  reached  the  city  of  Kublai  Khan, 
that  great  prince  shrouded  in  distance  and  mystery, 
whose  name  has  been  appropriated  by  poets  and 
dreamers;  but  who  takes  immediate  form  and 
shape,  in  the  brief  and  abrupt  narrative  of  his 
visitors,  as  a  most  courteous  and  gentle  human 
being,  full  of  endless  curiosity  and  interest  in  all 
the  wonders  which  these  sons  of  Western  civiliza- 
tion could  tell  him.  The  Great  Khan  received 
them  with  the  most  royal  courtesy,  and  questioned 
them  closely  about  thir  laws  and  rulers,  and  still 
more  about  their  religion,  which  seems  to  have  ex- 
cited the  imagination  and  pleased  the  judgment  of 
this  calmly  impartial  inquirer.  No  doubt  the 
manners  and  demeanor  of  the  Venetians,  devout 
Catholics  in  all  the  fervor  habitual  to  their  age 
and  city,  recommended  their  faith.  So  much  inter- 
ested indeed  was  the  Tartar  prince  that  he  deter: 
mined  to  seek  for  himself  and  his  people  more 
authoritative  teaching,  and  to  send  his  merchant 
visitors  back  with  a  petition  to  thus  purpose 
addressed  to  the  Pope.    No  more  important  mission 


150  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

was  ever  intrusted  to  any  ambassadors.  They  were 
commissioned  to  ask  from  the  head  of  the  Church  a 
hundred  missionaries  to  convert  the  Tartar  multi- 
tudes to  Christianity.  These  were  to  be  wise  per- 
sons acquainted  with  the  "Seven  Arts,"  well  quali- 
fied to  discuss  and  convince  all  men  by  force  of 
reason  that  the  idols  whom  they  worshiped  in  their 
houses  were  things  of  the  devil,  and  that  the  Chris- 
tian law  was  better  than  those,  all  evil  and  false, 
which  they  followed.  And,  above  all,  adds  the 
simple  narrative,  "he  charged  them  to  bring 
back  with  them  some  of  the  oil  from  the  lamp 
which  burns  before  the  sepulcher  of  Christ  at  Jeru- 
salem." 

The  letters  which  were  to  be  the  credentials  of 
this  embassy  w^re  drawn  out  "in  the  Turkish  lan- 
guage, "  in  all  likelihood  by  the  Venetians  them- 
selves, and  a  Tartar  chief,  "one  of  his  barons,"  was 
commissioned  by  the  Great  Khan  to  accompany 
them ;  he,  however,  soon  shrank  from  the  fatigues 
and  perils  of  the  journey.  The  Poli  set  out,  carry- 
ing with  them  a  royal  warrant  inscribed  on  a  tablet 
of  gold,  commanding  all  men  wherever  they  passed 
to  serve  and  help  them  on  their  way.  Notwith- 
standing this,  it  took  them  three  years  of  travel, 
painful  and  complicated,  before  they  reached  Acre 
on  their  homeward — or  rather  Romeward — journey. 
There  they  heard,  to  their  consternation,  that  the 
Pope  was  dead.  This  was  terrible  news  for  the 
ambassadors,  who  doubtless  felt  the  full  import- 
ance of  their  mission.  In  their  trouble  they  ap- 
pealed to  the  highest  ecclesiastic  near,  the  pontifi- 
cal legate  in  Egypt,  who  heard  their  story  with 
great  interest,  but  pointed  out  to  them  that  the 
only  thing  they  could  do  was  to  wait  till  a  new 
Pope  was  elected.  This  suggestion  seems  to  have 
satisfied  their  judgment,  although  the  conflict  over 
that  election  must  have  tried  any  but  a  very  robust 
faith.  The  Poli  then  concluded — an  idea  which 
does  not  seem  to  have  struck  them  before — that. 


THE   MAKERS  OF  VENICE  161 

having  thus  certain  time  vacant  on  their  hands, 
they  might  as  well  employ  it  by  going  to  see  their 
family  in  Venice.  They  had  quitted  their  home 
apparently  some  fifteen  years  before,  Niccolo  hav- 
ing left  his  wife  there,  who  gave  birth  to  a  son 
after  his  departure  and  subsequently  died.  Colonel 
Yule  suggests  that  the  wife  was  dead  before  Niccolo 
left  Venice,  which  would  have  given  a  certain  ex- 
planation of  the  slight  interest  he  showed  in  revisit- 
ing his  native  city.  But  at  all  events,  the  brothers 
went  home ;  and  Niccolo  found  his  child,  whether 
born  in  his  absence  or  left  behind  an  infant,  grown 
into  a  sprightly  and  interesting  boy,  no  doubt  a 
delightful  discovery.  They  had  abundant  time  to 
renew  their  acquaintance  with  all  their  ancient 
friends  and  associations,  for  months  went  by  and 
still  no  Pope  was  elected,  nor  does  there  seem  to 
have  been  any  ecclesiastical  authority  to  whom  they 
could  deliver  their  letters.  Probably,  in  that  time 
any  enthusiasm  the  two  traders  may  have  had  for 
the  great  work  of  converting  those  wild  and  won- 
derful regions  of  the  East  had  died  away.  Indeed, 
the  project  does  not  seem  to  have  moved  any  one, 
save  to  a  passing  wonder;  and  all  ecclesiastical 
enterprises  were  apparently  suspended  while  con- 
clave after  conclave  assembled  and  no  result  was 
attained. 

At  length  the  brothers  began  to  tire  of  inaction, 
and  to  remember  that  through  all  those  years  of 
silence  Kublai  Khan  was  looking  for  them,  wonder- 
ing perhaps  what  delayed  their  coming,  perhaps  be 
lieving  that  their  return  home  had  driven  all  their 
promises  from  their  memory,  and  that  they  had 
forgotten  him  and  his  evangelical  desires.  Stirred 
by  this  thought,  they  determined  at  last  to  return 
to  their  prince,  and  setting  out,  accompanied  by 
young  Marco,  Niccolo's  son,  they  went  to  Acre, 
where  they  betook  themselves  once  more  to  the 
pious  legate,  Tebaldo  di  Piacenza,  whom  they  had 
consulted   on  their  arrival.      They  first  asked  his 


152  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

leave  to  go  to  Jerusalem  to  fetch  the  oil  from  the 

holy  lamp,  the  only  one  of  the  Great  Khan's  com- 
missions which  it  seemed  possible  to  carry  out;  and 
then,  with  some  fear  apparently  that  their  word 
might  not  be  believed,  asked  him  to  give  them  let- 
ters certifying  that  they  had  done  their  best  to  ful- 
fill their  errand,  and  had  failed  only  in  consequence 
of  the  strange  fact  that  there  was  no  Pope  to 
whom  their  letters  could  be  delivered.  Provided 
with  these  testimonials  they  started  on  their  long 
journey,  but  had  only  got  as  far  as  Lagos,  on  the 
coast  of  the  then  kingdom  of  Armenia,  which  was 
their  point  of  entrance  upon  the  wild  and  immense 
plains  which  they  had  to  traverse,  when  the  news 
followed  them  that  the  Pope  was  at  last  elected, 
and  was  no  other  than  their  friend,  the  legate 
Tebaldo.  A  messenger,  requesting  their  return  to 
Acre,  soon  followed,  and  ^the  brothers  and  young 
Marco  returned  with  new  hopes  of  a  successful 
issue  to  their  mission.  But  the  new  Pope,  Gregory 
X.,  though  he  received  them  with  honor  and  great 
friendship,  had  not  apparently  a  hundred  wise  men 
to  give  them,  nor  the  means  of  sending  out  a  little 
Christian  army  to  the  conquest  of  heathenism.  All 
that  he  could  do  for  them  was  to  send  with  them 
two  brothers  of  the  order  of  St.  Dominic,  frati  pre- 
dicatori  to  do  what  they  could  toward  that  wast 
work.  But  when  the  Dominicans  heard  that  war 
had  broken  out  in  Armenia,  and  that  they  had  to 
encounter  not  only  a  fatiguing  journey  but  all  the 
perils  of  perpetual  fighting  along  their  route,  they 
went  no  further  than  that  port  of  Lagos  beyond 
which  lay  the  unknown.  The  letters  of  privilege — 
indulgences,  no  doubt,  and  grants  of  papal  favor  to 
be  distributed  among  the  Tartar  multitude — they 
transferred  hastily  to  the  sturdy  merchants,  who 
were  used  to  fighting  as  to  most  other  dangerous 
things,  and  had  no  fear,  and  ignominiously  took 
their  flight  back  to  the  accustomed  and  known. 
It  is  extraordinary,  looking  back  upon  it,  to  think 


THE   MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  153 

of  the  easy  relinquishment  of  such  a  wonderful 
chance  as  this  would  seem  to  have  been.  Pope  and 
priests  were  all  occupied  with  their  own  affairs.  It 
was  of  more  importance  in  their  eyes  to  quell  the 
Ghibellines  than  to  convert  and  civilize  the  Tartars. 
And  perhaps,  considering  that  even  an  infallible 
Pope  is  but  a  man,  this  was  less  wonderful  than  it 
appears  •  for  Kublai  Khan  was  a  long  way  off,  and 
very  dim  and  undiscernible  in  his  unknown  steppes 
and  strange  primeval  cities — whereas  the  emperor 
and  his  supporters  were  close  at  hand,  and  very 
sensible  thorns  in  consecrated  flesh.  It  seems  some- 
what extraordinary,  however,  that  no  young  monk 
or  eager  preacher  caught  fire  at  the  suggestion  of 
such  an  undertaking.  Some  fifty  years  before  Fra 
Francisco  from  Assisi,  leaving  his  new  order  and 
all  its  cares,  insisted  upon  being  sent  to  the  Soldan 
to  see  whether  he  could  not  forestall  the  CruSaders 
and  make  ail  the  world  one,  by  converting  that 
noble  infidel— which  seemed  to  him  the  straight- 
forward and  simple  thing  to  do.  If  Francis  had 
but  been  there  with  his  poor  brothers,  vowed  to 
every  humiliation,  the  lovers  of  poverty,  what  a 
mission  for  them!  a  crusade  of  the  finest  kind,  with 
every  augury  of  success,  though  all  the  horrors  of 
the  steppes,  wild  winters  and  blazing  summers,  and 
swollen  streams  and  fighting  tribes,  lay  in  their 
way.  And  had  the  hundred  wise  men  ever  been 
gathered  together,  what  a  pilgrimage  for  minstrel 
to  celebrate  and  story-teller  to  write;  a  new  ex- 
pedition of  the  saints,  a  holier  Israel  in  the  desert! 
But  nothing  of  the  kind  came  about.  The  two 
papal  envoys,  who  had  been  the  first  to  throw  light 
upon  those  kingdoms  beyond  the  desert,  had  no 
successors  in  the  later  half  of  the  century.  And 
with  only  young  Marco  added  to  their  band  the 
merchant  brothers  returned,  perhaps  a  little 
ashamed  of  their  Christian  rulers,  perhaps  chiefly 
interested    about  the  reception  they  would  meet 


154  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

with,  and  whether  the  great  Kublai  would  still 
remember  his  luckless  ambassadors. 

The  journey  back  occupied  once  more  three  years 
and  a  half.  It  gives  us  a  strange  glimpse  into  the 
long  intervals  of  silence  habitual  to  primitive  life 
to  find  that  these  messengers,  without  means  of  com- 
municating any  information  of  their  movements  to 
their  royal  patron,  were  more  than  eight  years 
altogether  absent  on  the  mission  from  which  they 
returned  with  so  little  success.  In  our  own  days 
their  very  existence  would  probably  have  been  for- 
gotten in  such  a  long  lapse  of  interest.  Let  us 
hope  that  the  holy  oil  from  the  sepulcher,  the  only 
thing  Christianity  could  send  to  the  inquiring 
heathen,  was  safely  kept,  in  some  precious  bottle  of 
earliest  glass  from  Murano,  or  polished  stone  less 
brittle  than  glass,  through  all  the  dangers  of  the 
journey. 

Thus  the  Poll  disappeared  again  into  the  un- 
known for  many  additional  years.  Letters  were 
not  rife  anywhere  in  those  days,  and  for  them,  lost 
out  of  the  range  of  civilization,  though  in  the  midst 
of  another  full  and  busy  world — with  another  civil- 
ization, art,  and  philosophy  of  its  own — there  was 
no  possibility  of  any  communication  with  Venice 
or  distant  friends.  It  is  evident  that  they  sat  very 
loose  to  Venice;  having  perhaps  less  personal 
acquaintance  with  the  city  than  most  of  her  mer- 
chant adventurers.  Niccolo  and  Matteo  must  have 
gone  to  Constantinople  while  still  young — and 
Marco  was  but  fifteen  when  he  left  the  lagoons. 
They  had  apparently  no  ties  of  family  tenderness 
to  call  them  back,  and  custom  and  familiarity  had 
made  the  strange  world  around,  and  the  half  savage 
tribes,  and  the  primitive  court  with  its  barbaric 
magnificence,  pleasant  and  interesting  to  them.  It 
was  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  century  before  they  ap- 
peared out  of  the  unknown  again. 

By  that  time  the  Casa  Polo  in  San  Crisostomo  had 
ceased  to  think  of  its  absent  members.     In  all  like- 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  165 

lihood  they  had  no  very  near  relations  left.  Father 
and  mother  would  be  dead  long  ago;  the  elder 
brother  lived  and  died  in  Constantinople ;  and  there 
was  no  one  who  looked  with  any  warm  expectation 
for  the  arrival  of  the  strangers.  When  there  sud- 
denly appeared  at  the  gate  of  the  great  family 
house,  full  of  cousins  and  kinsmen,  one  evening  in 
the  year  1295,  about  twenty-four  years  after  their 
departure,  three  wild  and  travel-worn  figures,  in 
coats  of  coarse  homespun  like  those  worn  by  the 
Tartars,  the  sheepskin  collars  mingling  with  the 
long  locks  and  beards  of  the  wearers,  their  com- 
plexions dark  with  exposure,  their  half  forgotten 
mother  tongue  a  little  uncertain  on  their  lips — who 
could  believe  that  these  were  Venetian  gentlemen, 
members  of  an  important  family  in  the  city  which 
had  forgotten  them?  The  three  unknown  persons 
arrived  suddenly,  without  any  warning,  at  their 
ancestral  home.  One  can  imagine  the  commotion 
in  the  courtyard,  the  curious  gazers  who  would 
come  out  to  the  door,  the  heads  that  would  gather 
at  every  window,  when  it  became  known  through 
the  house  that  these  wild  strangers  claimed  to 
belong  to  it,  to  be  in  some  degree  its  masters,  the 
long  disappeared  kinsmen  whose  portion  perhaps 
by  this  time  had  fallen  into  hands  very  unwilling 
to  let  it  go.  The  doorway  which  still  exists  in  the 
Corte  della  Sabbionera,  in  the  depths  of  the  cool 
quadrangle,  with  its  arch  of  Byzantine  work,  and 
the  cross  above  which  every  visitor  in  Venice  may 
still  see  when  he  will,  behind  San  Crisostomo,  is, 
as  tradition  declares,  the  very  door  at  which  the 
travelers  knocked  and  parleyed.  The  house  was 
then — according  to  the  most  authentic  account  we 
have,  that  of  Ramusio  —  un  bellissimo  e  molto  alto 
palazzo.  Absolute  authenticity  it  is  perhaps  impossi- 
ble to  claim  for  the  story.  But  it  was  told  to  Ra- 
musio, who  flourished  in  the  fifteenth  century,  by 
an  old  man,  a  distinguished  citizen  who,  and  whose 
race,  had  been  established  for  generations  in  the 


156  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

same  parish  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  Casa 
Polo,  and  who  had  heard  it  from  his  predecessors 
there,  a  very  trustworthy  source  of  information. 
The  family  was  evidently  well  off  and  important, 
and,  in  all  probability,  noble.  "In  those  days," 
says  Colonel  Yule,  making  with  all  his  learning  a 
mistake  for  once,  "the  demarcation  between  patri- 
cian and  non-patrician  at  Venice,  where  all  classes 
shared  in  commerce,  all  were  (generally  speaking) 
of  one  race,  and  where  there  were  neither  castles, 
domains,  nor  trains  of  horsemen,  formed  no  very 
wide  gulf."  This  is  an  astounding  statement  to 
make  in  the  age  of  Bajamonte's  great  conspiracy; 
but  as  Marco  Polo  is  always  spoken  of  as  noble,  no 
doubt  his  family  belonged  to  the  privileged  class. 

The  heads  of  the  house  gathered  to  the  door  to 
question  the  strange  applicants,  "for,  seeing  them 
so  transfigured  in  countenance  and  disordered  in 
dress,  they  could  not  believe  that  these  were  those 
of  the  Ca'  Polo  who  had  been  believed  dead  for  so 
many  and  so  many  years."  The  strangers  had 
great  trouble  even  to  make  it  understood  who  they 
claimed  to  be.  "But  at  last  these  three  gentlemen 
conceived  the  plan  of  making  a  bargain  that  in  a 
certain  time  they  should  so  act  as  to  recover  their 
identity  and  the  recognition  of  their  relatives,  and 
honor  from  all  the  city."  The  expedient  they 
adopted  again  reads  like  a  scene  out  of  the  "Arabian 
Nights."  They  invited  all  their  relatives  to  a  great 
banquet  which  was  prepared  with  much  magnifi- 
cence "in  the  same  house,"  says  the  story-teller; 
so  that  it  is  evident  they  must  already  have  gained 
a  certain  credence  from  their  own  nearest  relations. 
When  the  hour  fixed  for  the  banquet  came,  the  fol- 
lowing extraordinary  scene  occurred : 

The  three  came  out  of  their  chamber  dressed  in  long  robes 
of  crimson  satin,  according  to  the  fashion  of  the  time,  which 
touched  the  ground.  And  when  water  had  been  offered  for 
their  hands,  they  placed  their  guests  at  table,  and  then  taking 
off  their  satin  robes  put  on  rich  damask  of  the  same  color, 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  l5t 

ordering  in  the  meanwhile  that  the  first  should  be  divided 
among  the  servants.  Then  after  eating  something  [no 
doubt  a  first  course],  they  rose  from  table  and  again  changed 
their  dress,  putting  on  crimson  velvet,  and  giving  as  before 
the  damask  robes  to  the  servants,  and  at  the  end  of  the  repast 
they  did  the  same  with  the  velvet,  putting  on  garments  of 
ordinary  cloth  such  as  their  guests  wore.  The  persons  invited 
were  struck  dumb  with  astonishment  at  these  proceedings. 
And  when  the  servants  had  left  the  hall,  Messer  Marco,  the 
youngest,  rising  from  the  table,  went  into  his  chamber  and 
brought  out  the  three  coarse  cloth  surcoats  in  which  they  had 
come  home.  And  immediately  the  three  began  with  sharp 
knives  to  cut  open  the  seams,  and  tear  off  the  lining,  upon 
which  there  poured  forth  a  great  quantity  of  precious  stones 
— rubies,  sapphires,  carbuncles,  diamonds,  and  emeralds — 
which  had  been  sewed  into  each  coat  with  great  care,  so  that 
nobody  could  have  suspected  that  anything  was  there.  For, 
on  parting  with  the  Great  Khan,  they  had  changed  all  the 
wealth  he  bestowed  upon  them  into  precious  stones,  know- 
ing certainly  that  if  they  had  done  otherwise  they  never 
could  by  so  long  and  difficult  a  road  have  brought  their  prop- 
erty home  in  safety.  The  exhibition  of  such  an  extraordinary 
and  infinite  treasure  of  jewels  and  precious  stones,  which 
covered  the  table,  once  more  filled  all  present  with  such 
astonishment  that  they  were  dumb  and  almost  beside  them- 
selves with  surprise ;  and  they  at  once  recognized  these  hon- 
ored and  venerated  gentlemen  of  the  Ca'  Polo,  whom  at  first 
they  had  doubted,  and  received  them  with  the  greatest  honor 
and  reverence.  And  when  the  story  was  spread  abroad  in 
Venice,  the  entire  city,  both  nobles  and  people,  rushed  to  the 
house  to  embrace  them,  and  to  make  every  demonstration  of 
loving-kindness  and  respect  that  could  be  imagined.  And 
Messer  Matteo.  who  was  the  eldest,  was  created  one  of  the 
most  honored  magistrates  of  the  city,  and  all  the  youth  of 
Venice  resorted  to  the  house  to  visit  Messer  Marco,  who  was 
most  humane  and  gracious,  and  to  put  questions  to  him  about 
Cathay  and  the  Great  Khan,  to  which  he  made  ansAver  with 
so  much  benignity  and  courtesy  that  they  all  remained  his 
debtors.  And  because  in  the  continued  repetition  of  his 
story  of  the  grandeur  of  the  Great  Khan  he  stated  the  rev- 
enues of  that  prince  to  be  from  ten  to  fifteen  millions  in  gold, 
and  counted  all  the  other  wealth  of  the  country  always  in 
millions,  the  surname  was  given  him  of  Marco  Millione, 
which  may  be  seen  noted  in  the  public  books  of  the  republic. 
And  the  courtyard  of  his  house,  from  that  time  to  this,  has 
been  vulgarly  called  the  Corte  Millione. 

It  is  scarcely  possible  to  imagine  that  the  narrator 
of  the  above  wonderful  story  was  not  inspired  by 


158  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

the  keenest  humorous  view  of  human  nature  and 
perception  of  the  character  of  his  countrymen  when 
he  so  gravely  describes  the  effectual  arguments 
which  lay  in  i\iQ gioie preciosissime — the  diamonds  and 
sapphires  which  his  travelers  had  sewed  up  in  their 
old  clothes — and  which,  according  to  all  the  laws 
of  logic,  were  exactly  fitted  to  procure  their  recog- 
nition "as  honored  and  venerated  gentlemen  of  the 
Ca'  Polo."  The  scene  is  of  a  kind  which  has 
always  found  great  acceptance  in  primitive  romance : 
the  cutting  up  of  their  seams,  the  drawing  forth  of 
one  precious  little  parcel  after  another  amid  the 
wonder  and  exclamations  of  the  gazing  spectators, 
are  all  familiar  incidents  in  traditionary  story. 
But  in  the  present  case  this  was  a  quite  reasonable 
and  natural  manner  of  conveying  the  accumulations 
of  a  long  period  through  all  the  perils  of  a  three- 
years'  journey  from  far  Cathay;  and  there  is  noth- 
ing at  all  unlikely  in  the  miraculous  story,  which, 
no  doubt,  would  make  a  great  impression  upon  the 
crowded  surrounding  population,  and  linger,  an  oft- 
repeated  tale,  in  the  alleys  about  San  Giovanni 
Cristostomo  and  along  the  Rio,  where  everyody 
knew  the  discreet  and  sensible  family  which  had  the 
wit  to  recognize  and  fall  upon  the  necks  of  their 
kinsmen  as  soon  as  they  knew  how  rich  they  were. 
The  other  results  that  ensued — the  rush  of  golden 
youth  to  see  and  visit  Marco,  who,  though  no 
longer  young,  was  the  young  man  of  the  party,  and 
their  questions,  and  the  jeer  of  the  new,  mocking 
title,  Marco  Millione — follow  the  romance  with 
natural  human  incredulity  and  satire  and  laughter. 
It  is  true,  and  proved  by  at  least  one  public  docu- 
ment, that  the  gibe  grew  into  serious  use,  and  that 
even  the  gravest  citizens  forgot  after  a  time  that 
Marco  of  the  Millions  was  not  the  traveler's  natural 
and  sober  name.  There  was  at  least  one  other 
house  of  the  Poli  in  Venice,  and  perhaps  there  were 
other  Marcos  from  whom  it  was  well  to  distinguish 
him  of  San  Crisostomo. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  159 

It  would  seem  clear  enough,  however,  from  this, 
that  these  travelers*  tales  met  with  the  fate  that  so 
often  attends  the  marvelous  narratives  of  an  ex- 
plorer. Marco's  Great  Khan,  far  away  in  the  distance 
as  of  another  world ;  the  barbarian  purple  and  gold 
of  Kublai's  court;  the  great  cities  out  of  all  mortal 
ken,  as  the  young  men  in  their  mirth  supposed ;  the 
incredible  wonders  that  peopled  that  remote  and 
teeming  darkness,  which  the  primitive  imagination 
could  not  believe  in  as  forming  part  of  its  own  nar- 
row little  universe — must  have  kept  one  generation 
at  least  in  amusement.  No  doubt  the  sunbrowned 
traveler  had  all  that  desire  to  instruct  and  surprise 
his  hearers  which  came  natural  to  one  who  knew  so 
much  more  than  they,  and  was  capable  of  being 
endlessly  drawn  out  by  any  group  of  young  idlers 
who  might  seek  his  company.  They  would  thread 
their  way  through  the  labyrinth  of  narrow  passages 
with  all  their  mediaeval  bravery,  flashing  along  in 
parti-colored  hose  and  gold-embroidered  doublets 
on  their  way  from  the  Broglio  to  get  a  laugh  out  of 
Messer  Marco — who  was  always  so  ready  to  commit 
himself  to  some  new  prodigy. 

But  after  a  while  the  laugh  died  out  in  the  grave 
troubles  that  assailed  the  republic.  The  most 
dreadful  war  that  had  ever  arisen  between  Venice 
and  Genoa  had  raged  for  some  time,  through  various 
vicissitudes,  when  the  city  at  last  determined  to 
send  out  such  an  expedition  as  should  at  once  over- 
whelm all  rivalry.  This  undertaking  stirred  every 
energy  among  the  population,  and  both  men  and 
money  poured  in  for  the  service  ot  the  common- 
wealth. There  may  not  be  any  authentic  proof  of 
Colonel  Yule's  suggestion  that  Marco  Polo  fitted 
out,  or  partially  fitted  out,  one  of  the  boats,  and 
mounted  his  own  flag  at  the  masthead  when  it  went 
into  action.  But  the  family  were  assessed  at  the 
value  of  one  or  more  galleys,  and  he  was  certainly 
a  volunteer  in  the  fleet;  a  defender  of  his  country 
in   a  terrible  warfare  which  was  draining  all  her 


160  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

resources.  The  battle  of  Curzola  took  place  in 
September,  1298,  and  it  ended  in  a  complete  and 
disastrous  defeat  for  the  Venetians.  Of  the  ninety- 
seven  galleys  which  sailed  so  bravely  out  of  Venice, 
only  seventeen  miserable  wrecks  found  refuge  in 
the  shelter  of  the  lagoons,  and  the  admiral  and  the 
greater  part  of  the  survivors,  men  shamed  and  mis- 
erable, were  carried  prisoners  to  Genoa  with  every 
demonstration  ot  joy  and  triumph.  The  admiral, 
as  has  already  been  said,  was  chained  to  his  own 
mast  in  barbarous  exultation,  but  managed  to 
escape  from  the  triumph  of  his  enemies  by  dashing 
his  head  against  a  timber,  and  dying  thus  before 
they  reached  port. 

Marco  Polo  was  among  the  rank  and  file  who  do 
not  permit  themselves  such  luxuries.  Among  all 
the  wonderful  things  he  had  seen,  he  could  never 
have  seen  a  sight  at  once  so  beautiful  and  so  ter- 
rible as  the  great  semicircle  ot  the  Bay  of  Genoa, 
crowded  with  the  exultant  people,  gay  with  every 
kind  of  decoration,  and  resounding  with  applause 
and  excitement  when  the  victorious  galleys  with 
their  wretched  freight  sailed  in.  No  doubt  in  the 
Tartar  wastes  he  had  longed  many  a  time  for  inter- 
course with  his  fellows,  or  even  to  see  the  face  of 
some  compatriot  or  Christian  amid  all  the  dusky 
faces  and  barbaric  customs  of  the  countries  he  had 
described.  But  now  what  a  revelation  to  him  must 
have  been  the  wild  passion  and  savage  delight  of 
those  near  neighbors,  with  but  the  width  of  a  Euro- 
pean peninsula  between  them,  and  so  much 
hatred,  rancor,  and  fierce  antagonism!.  Probably, 
however,  Marco,  having  been  born  to  hate  the 
Genoese,  was  occupied  by  none  of  these  sentimental 
reflections;  and  knowing  how  he  himself  and  all  his 
countrymen  would  have  cheered  and  shouted  had 
Doria  been  the  victim  instead  of  Dandolo,  took  nis 
dungeon  and  chains,  and  the  intoxication  of  tri- 
umph with  which  he  and  his  fellow-prisoners  were 
received,  as  matters  of  course. 


tttE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  161 

He  lay  for  about  a  year,  as  would  appear,  in  this 
Genoese  prison;  and  here,  probably  for  the  first 
time,  his  endless  tales  of  the  wonders  he  had  seen 
and  known  first  fulfilled  the  blessed  office  of  story 
telling,  and  became  to  the  crowded  prison  a  foun- 
tain of  refreshment  and  new  life.  To  all  these  un- 
fortunate groups — wounded,  sick,  especially  sick  for 
home,  humiliated  and  forlorn,  with  scarcely  any- 
thing wanting  to  complete  the  round  of  misery — 
what  a  solace  in  the  tedium  of  the  dreary  days, 
what  a  help  to  get  through  the  lingering  time,  and 
forget  their  troubles  for  a  moment,  must  have  been 
this  companion,  burned  to  a  deeper  brown  than  even 
Venetian  suns  and  seas  could  give,  whose  memory 
was  inexhaustible;  who  day  by  day  had  another 
tale  to  tell;  who  set  before  them  new  scenes,  new 
people,  a  great,  noble,  open-hearted  monarch,  and 
all  the  quaint  habits  and  modes  of  living,  not  of 
one,  but  of  a  hundred  tribes  and  nations,  all  differ- 
ent, endless,  original !  All  the  poor  expedients  to 
make  the  time  pass,  such  games  as  they  might 
have,  such  exercises  as  were  possible,  even  the 
quarrels  which  must  have  arisen  to  diversify  the  flat 
and  tedious  hours,  could  bear  no  comparison  with 
this  fresh  source  of  entertainment,  the  continued 
story  carried  on  from  day  to  day,  to  which  the 
cramped  and  weary  prisoner  might  look  forward  as 
he  stretched  his  limbs  and  opened  his  eyes  to  a  new, 
unwelcome  morning.  If  anyone  among  these  pris- 
oners remembered  then  the  satire  of  the  golden 
youth,  the  laughing  nickname  of  the  Millione,  he 
had  learned  by  that  time  what  a  public  benefactor 
a  man  is  who  has  something  to  tell ;  and  the  trav- 
eler, who  perhaps  had  never  found  out  how  he  had 
been  laughed  at,  had  thus  the  noblest  revenge. 

Among  all  these  wounded,  miserable  Venetians, 
however,  there  was  one  whose  presence  there  was 
of  more  immediate  importance  to  the  world — a  cer- 
tain Pisan,  an  older  inhabitant  than  they  of  these 
prisons,  a  penniless  derelict,   forgotten  perhaps  of 

UT«nioe 


162  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

his  own  city,  with  nobody  to  buy  him  out—Rusti- 
ciano,  a  poor  poetaster,  a  rusty  brother  of  the  pen, 
who  had  written  romances  in  his  day,  and  learned  a 
little  of  the  craft  of  authorship.  What  a  wonderful 
treasure  was  this  fountain  of  strange  story  for  a 
poor  mediaeval  literary  man  to  find  in  his  dungeon! 
The  scribbler  seems  to  have  seized  at  once  by 
instinct  upon  the  man  who  for  once  in  his  life  could 
furnish  him  with  something  worth  telling.  Rusti- 
ciano  saw  his  opportunity  in  a  moment,  with  an  ex- 
ultation which  he  could  not  keep  to  himself.  It 
was  not  in  his  professional  nature  to  refrain  from  a 
great  fanfare  and  flourish,  calling  upon  heaven  and 
earth  to  listen.  ^'Signori  imperatori  e  re,  duchi  e 
marc  he  si,  conti,  cavalieri,  principi,  baroni, "  he  cries 
out,  as  he  did  in  his  romances.  "Oh,  emperors  and 
kings,  oh,  dukes,  princes,  marquises,  barons  and 
cavaliers,  and  all  who  delight  in  knowing  the 
different  races  of  the  world,  and  the  variety  of 
countries,  take  this  book  and  read  it!"  This  was 
the  proper  way,  according  to  all  his  rules,  to  present 
himself  to  the  public.  He  makes  his  bow  to  them 
like  a  showman  in  front  of  his  menagerie.  He 
knows,  too,  the  language  in  which  to  catch  the  ear 
of  all  these  fine  people,  so  that  every  noble  may  de- 
sire to  have  a  copy  of  this  manuscript  to  cheer  his 
household  in  the  lingering  winter,  or  amuse  the 
poor  women  at  their  embroidery  while  the  men  are 
at  the  wars.  For,  according  to  all  evidence,  what 
the  prisoner  of  Pisa  took  down  from  the  lips  of  the 
Venetian  in  the  dungeons  of  Genoa  was  written  by 
him  in  curious  antique  French,  corrupted  a  little  by 
Italian  idioms,  the  most  universal  of  all  the  lan- 
guages of  the  Western  world.  Nothing  can  be 
more  unlike  than  those  flourishes  of  Rusticiano  by 
way  of  preface,  and  the  simple  strain  of  the  unvar- 
nished tale  when  Messer  Marco  himself  begins  to 
speak.  And  the  circumstance  of  these  two  Italians 
employing  another  living  language  in  which  to  tell 
their  wonderful  story  is  so  curious  that  many  other 


tHE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  163 

theories  have  been  set  forth  on  the  subject,  though 
none  which  are  accepted  by  the  best  critics  as 
worthy  of  belief.  One  of  the  earliest  of  these^ 
Ramusio,  pronounces  strongly  in  favor  of  a  Latin 
version.  Marco  had  told  his  stories  over  and  over 
again,  this  historian  says,  with  such  effect  that  ''see- 
ing the  great  desire  that  everybody  had  to  hear 
about  Cathay  and  the  Great  Khan,  and  being  com- 
pelled to  begin  again  every  day,  he  was  advised  that 
it  would  be  well  to  commit  it  to  writing" — which 
was  done  by  the  dignified  medium  of  a  Genoese 
gentleman,  who  took  the  trouble  to  procure  from 
Venice  all  the  notes  which  the  three  travelers  had 
made  of  their  journeys;  and  then  compiled  in 
Latin,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  learned,  a 
continuous  narrative.  But  the  narrative  itself  and 
everything  that  can  be  discovered  about  it  are 
wholly  opposed  to  this  theory.  There  is  not  the 
slightest  appearance  of  notes  worked  into  a  perma- 
nent record.  The  story  has  evidently  been  taken 
down  from  the  lips  of  a  somewhat  discursive 
speaker,  with  all  the  breadth  and  air  in  it  of  oral 
discourse.  *'This  is  enough  upon  that  matter;  now 
I  will  tell  you  of  something  else."  "Now  let  us 
leave  the  nation  of  Mosul  and  I  will  tell  you  about 
the  great  city  of  Baldoc. "  So  the  tale  goes  on, 
with  interruptions,  with  natural  goings  back — "But 

first  I   must  tell   you "     "Now  we  will  go  on 

with  the  other."  While  we  read  we  seem  to  sit. 
one  of  the  eager  circle,  listening  to  the  story  of 
these  wonderful,  unknown  places,  our  interest 
quickened  here  and  there  by  a  legend — some  illus- 
tration of  the  prolonged  conflict  between  heathen 
and  Christian,  or  the  story  of  some  prodigy  accom- 
plished; now  that  of  a  grain  of  mustard-seed  which 
the  Christians  were  defied  to  make  into  a  tree,  now 
a  curious  Eastern  version  of  the  story  of  the  Three 
Magi.  These  episodes  have  all  the  characteristics 
of  the  ordinary  legend;  but  the  plain  and  simple 
story  of  what  Messer  Marco  saw  and  heard,  and  the 


i64  tHE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

ways  of  the  unknown  populations  among  whom  h^ 
spent  his  youth,  are  like  nothing  but  what  they  are 
— a  narrative  of  tacts,  with  no  attempt  to  throw  any 
fictitious  interest  or  charm  about  them.  No  doubt 
the  prisoners  liked  the  legends  best,  and  the  circle 
would  draw  closer,  and  the  looks  become  more 
eager,  when  the  story  ran  of  Prester  John  and 
Genghis  Khan,  of  the  Old  Man  of  the  Mountain,  or 
of  how  the  Calif  tested  the  faith  of  the  Christ- 
ians. 

When  all  this  began  to  be  committed  to  writing, 
when  Rusticiano  drew  his  inkhorn,  and  pondered 
his  French,  with  a  splendor  of  learning  and  wisdom 
which  no  doubt  appeared  miraculous  to  the  specta- 
tors, and  the  easy  narrative  flowed  on  a  sentence 
at  a  time  with  half  a  dozen  eager  critics  ready  no 
doubt  to  remind  the  reconteur  if  he  varied  a  word  of 
the  often  told  tale  what  an  interest  for  that  melan- 
choly crowd!  How  they  must  have  peered  over 
each  other's  shoulders  to  see  the  miraculous  manu- 
script, with  a  feeling  of  pleased  complacency  as  of 
a  wonderful  thing  in  which  they  themselves  had  a 
hand!  No  doubt  it  was  cold  in  Genoa  in  those  sun- 
less dungeons,  the  weary  winter  through ;  but  so 
long  as  Messer  Marco  went  on  with  his  stories,  and 
he  of  Pisa  wrote,  with  his  professional  artifices,  and 
his  sheet  of  vellum  on  his  knee,  what  endless  enter- 
tainment to  beguile  dull  care  away! 

The  captivity  lasted  not  more  than  a  year,  and 
our  traveler  returned  home,  to  where  the  jest  still 
lingered  about  the  man  with  the  millions,  and  no 
one  mentioned  him  without  a  smile.  He  would  not 
seem  to  have  disturbed  himself  about  this — indeed, 
after  that  one  appearance  as  a  fighting  man,  with 
its  painful  consequences,  he  would  seem  to  have  re- 
tired to  his  home  as  a  peaceful  citizen,  and  awoke 
no  echoes  any  more.  He  might  perhaps  be  dis- 
couraged by  the  reception  his  tale  had  met  with, 
even  though  there  is  no  evidence  of  it;  or  perhaps 
that  tacit  assent  to  a  foolish  and  wrong   popular 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  165 

verdict,  which  the  instructors  of  mankind  so  often 
drop  into,  with  a  certain  indulgent  contempt  as  of 
a  thing  not  worth  their  while  to  contend  against, 
was  in  his  mind,  who  knew  so  much  better  than  his 
critics.  At  all  events  it  is  evident  that  he  did  noth- 
ing more  to  bring  himself  to  the  notice  of  the 
world. 

It  was  in  1299  that  he  returned  to  Venice — on  the 
eve  of  all  those  great  disturbances  concerning  the 
Serrata  of  the  Council,  and  of  the  insurrection  which 
shook  the  republic  to  its  foundation.  But  in  all 
this,  Marco  of  the  Millions  makes  no  appearance. 
He  who  had  seen  so  much,  and  to  whom  the  great 
Kublai  was  the  finest  of  imperial  images,  most 
likely  looked  on  with  an  impartiality  beyond  the 
reach  of  most  Venetians  at  the  internal  strife,  know- 
ing that  revolutions  come  and  go,  while  the  course 
of  human  life  runs  on  much  the  same.  And  be- 
sides, Marco  was  noble,  and  lost  no  privilege,  prob- 
ably indeed  sympathized  with  the  effort  to  keep  the 
canaille  down. 

He  married  in  these  peaceful  years,  in  the  obscur- 
ity of  a  quiet  life,  and  had  three  daughters  only, 
Faustina,  Bellela,  and  Moretta;  no  son  to  keep  up 
the  tradition  of  the  adventurous  race,  a  thing  which 
happens  so  often  when  a  family  has  come  to  its  cli- 
max and  can  do  no  more.  He  seems  to  have  kept 
up  in  some  degree  his  commercial  character,  since 
there  is  a  record  of  a  lawsuit  for  the  recovery  of 
some  money  of  which  he  had  been  defrauded  by  an 
agent.  But  only  once  does  he  appear  in  the  char- 
acter of  an  author  responsible  for  his  own  story. 
Attached  to  two  of  the  earliest  manuscript  copies 
of  his  great  book,  one  preserved  in  Paris  and  the 
other  in  Berne,  are  MS.  notes,  apparently  quite 
authentic,  recording  the  circumstances  under  which 
he  presented  a  copy  of  the  work  to  a  noble  French 
cavalier  who  passed  through  Venice  while  in  the 
service  of  Charles  of  Valois  in  the  year  1307.  The 
note  is  as  follows: 


166  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

This  is  the  book  of  which  my  Lord  Thiebault,  Knight  and 
Lord  of  Cepoy  (whom  may  God  assoil !),  requested  a  copy  from 
Sire  Marco  Polo,  citizen  and  resident  in  the  City  of  Venice. 
And  the  said  Sire  Marco  Polo,  being  a  very  honorable  person 
of  high  character  and  report  in  many  countries,  because  of 
his  desire  that  what  he  had  seen  should  be  heard  throughout 
the  world,  and  also  for  the  honor  and  reverence  he  bore  to  the 
most  excellent  and  puissant  Prince,  my  Lord  Charles,  son  of 
the  King  of  France,  and  Count  of  Valois,  gave  and  presented 
to  the  aforesaid  Lord  of  Cepoy  the  first  copy  of  his  said  book 
that  was  made  after  he  had  written  it.  And  very  pleasing  it 
was  to  him  that  his  book  should  be  carried  to  the  noble 
country  of  France  by  so  worthy  a  gentlemen.  And  from  the 
copy  which  the  said  Messire  Thiebault  Sire  de  Cepoy  above 
named,  carried  into  France.  Messire  John,  who  was  his  eldest 
son  and  is  the  present  Sire  de  Cepoy,  had  a  copy  made  after 
his  father's  death,  and  the  first  copy  of  the  book  that  was 
made  alter  it  was  brought  to  France  he  presented  to  his  very 
dear  and  dread  Lord,  Monseigneur  de  Valois ;  and  afterward 
to  his  friends  who  wished  to  have  it.  .  .  .  This  happened  in 
the  year  of  the  Incarnation  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  one  thou- 
sand three  hundred  and  seven,  and  in  the  month  of  August. 

This  gives  a  pleasant  opening  through  the  mist  of 
obscurity  which  had  fallen  over  the  Ca'  Polo.  If 
Messer  Marco  was  illustrious  enough  to  be  sought 
out  by  a  young  stranger  of  Thiebault's  rank  and 
pretensions,  then  his  labors  had  not  been  without 
their  reward.  It  is  possible,  however,  that  the 
noble  visitor  might  have  been  taken  to  see  one  of 
the  amusing  personages  of  the  city,  and  with  the 
keenness  of  an  accustomed  eye  might  have  found 
out  for  himself  that  Messer  Marco  of  the  Millions 
was  no  braggart,  but  a  remarkable  man  with  a  uni- 
que history.  In  any  case,  the  note  is  full  of  inter- 
est. One  can  imagine  how  the  great  traveler's  eye 
and  his  heart  would  brighten  when  he  saw  that  the 
noble  Frenchman  understood  and  believed,  and  how 
he  would  turn  from  the  meaning  smile  and  mock 
respect  of  his  own  countrymen  to  the  intelligent  in- 
terests of  the  newcomer  who  could  discriminate  be- 
tween truth  and  falsehood.  ^^ Et  moult  lui  estoit 
agreable  quayit  par  si  preudomme  esioit  avanciez  etpottez 
es  nobles  parties  de  Fra7ice!' 

The  final  record  of  his  will  and  dying  wishes  is 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  167 

the  only  other  document  that  belongs  to  the  history 
of  Marco  Polo.  He  made  this  will  in  January, 
1323,  ''finding  myself  to  grow  daily  weaker  through 
bodily  ailment,  but  being  by  the  grace  of  God  of 
sound  mind,  and  senses  and  judgment  unim- 
paired," and  distributing  his  money  among  his  wife 
and  daughters,  whom  he  constitutes  his  executors, 
and  various  uses  of  piety  and  charity.  He  was  at 
this  time  about  sixty-nine,  and  it  is  to  be  supposed 
that  his  death  took  place  shortly  after — at  least  that 
is  the  last  we  know  of  him.  His  father,  who  had 
died  many  years  before,  had  been  buried  in  the 
patrio  of  San  Lorenzo,  where  it  is  to  be  supposed 
Messer  Marco  also  was  laid:  but  there  is  no  cer- 
tainty in  this  respect.  He  disappears  altogether 
from  the  time  his  will  is  signed,  and  all  his  earthly 
duties  done. 

It  is  needless  here  to  enter  into  any  description  of 
his  travels.  Their  extent  and  the  detailed  descrip- 
tions he  gives  at  once  of  the  natural  features  of  the 
countries,  and  of  their  manners  and  customs,  give 
them,  even  to  us,  for  whose  instructions  so  many 
generations  of  travelers  have  labored  since,  a  re- 
markable interest;  how  much  more  to  those  to 
whom  that  wonderful  new  world  was  as  a  dream ! 
The  reason  why  he  observed  so  closely,  and  took  so 
much  pains  to  remember  everything  he  saw,  is  very 
characteristically  told  in  the  book  itself.  The  young 
Venetian  to  whom  the  Great  Khan  had,  no  doubt, 
been  held  up  during  the  three  years'  long  journey 
as  an  object  of  boundless  veneration ;  whose  favor 
was  the  sum  of  existence  to  his  father  and  uncle ; 
observed  that  potentate  and  his  ways,  when  they 
reached  their  destination,  with  the  usual  keen  in- 
spection of  youth.  He  perceived  the  secret  of  the 
charm  which  had  made  these  Latin  merchants  so 
dear  to  Prince  Kublai,  in  the  warm  and  eager  in- 
terest which  he  took  in  all  the  stories  that  could  be 
told  him  of  other  countries  and  their  government, 
and  the   habits  of  their  people.      The  young  maa 


168  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

remarked  that  when  ambassadors  to  the  neighboring 
powers  came  back  after  discharging  their  mission, 
the  prince  listened  with  impatience  to  the  reports 
which  contained  a  mere  account  of  their  several 
errands  and  nothing  else,  saying  that  it  would  have 
pleased  him  more  to  have  heard  news  of  all  they 
had  seen,  and  a  description  of  unknown  or  strange 
customs  which  had  come  under  their  observation. 
Young  Marco  laid  the  lesson  to  heart,  and  when  he 
was  sent  upon  an  embassy,  as  soon  happened,  kept 
his  eyes  about  him,  and  told  the  monarch  on  his 
return  all  the  strange  things  he  had  seen,  and  what- 
ever he  heard  that  was  marvelous  or  remarkable,  so 
that  all  who  heard  him  wondered,  and  said,  ''If  this 
youth  lives  he  will  be  a  man  of  great  sense  and 
worth."  It  is  evident  throughout  the  book  that 
the  Venetians  were  no  mere  mercenaries,  but  had 
a  profound  regard  and  admiration  for  the  great, 
liberal,  friendly  monarch,  who  had  received  them 
so  kindly  and  lent  so  ready  an  ear  to  all  they  could 
tell,  and  that  young  Marco  had  grown  up  in  real 
affection  and  sympathy  for  his  new  master.  In- 
deed, as  we  read,  we  recognize,  through  all  the 
strangeness  and  distance,  a  countenance  and  person 
entirely  human  in  this  half  savage  Tartar,  and  find 
him  no  mysterious  voluptuary  like  the  Kublai  Khan 
of  the  poet,  but  a  cordial,  genial,  friendly  human 
being,  glad  to  know  about  all  his  fellow  creatures, 
whoever  they  might  be,  taking  the  most  wholesome 
friendly  interest  in  everything,  ready  to  learn  and 
eager  to  know.  One  wonders  what  he  thought  of 
the  slackness  of  the  Christian  powers  who  would 
send  no  men  to  teach  him  the  way  of  salvation;  of 
the  shrinking  of  the  teachers  themselves  who  were 
afraid  to  dare  the  dangers  of  the  way;  and  what  of 
that  talisman  they  had  brought  him,  the  oil  from  the 
holy  lamp,  which  he  had  received  with  joy.  It  was 
to  please  him  that  Marco  made  his  observations, 
noting  everything — or  at  least,  no  doubt  the  young 
embassador  believed  that  his  sole    object  was  to 


THE  MAKERS  01^  VENICE.  169 

please  his  master  when  he  followed  the  character- 
istic impulses  of  his  own  inquisitive  and  observant 
intelligence. 

Since  his  day  the  world  then  unknown  has  opened 
up  its  secrets  to  many  travelers,  the  geographer, 
the  explorer,  and  those  whose  study  lies  among  the 
differences  of  race  and  the  varieties  of  humanity. 
The  curious,  the  wise,  the  missionary,  and  the 
merchant,  every  kind  of  visitor  had  essayed  in  his 
turn  to  lift  the  veil  from  those  vast  spaces  and  pop- 
ulations and  to  show  us  the  boundless  multitudes 
and  endless  deserts,  which  lay,  so  to  speak,  outside 
the  world  for  centuries,  unknown  to  this  active 
atom  of  a  Europe,  which  has  monopolized  civiliza- 
tion for  itself;  but  none  of  them,  with  all  the  light 
of  centuries  of  accumulated  knowledge,  have  been 
able  to  give  Marco  Polo  the  lie.  Colonel  Vule,  his 
last  exponent  in  England,  is  no  enthusiast  for 
Marco.  He  speaks,  we  think  without  reason,  of  his 
"hammering  reiteration"  his  lack  of  humor,  and 
many  other  characteristic  nineteenth-century  objec- 
tions. But  when  all  is  done,  here  is  the  estimate 
which  this  impartial  critic  makes  of  him  and  his 
work : 

Surely  Marco's  real,  indisputable,  and  in  their  kind  unique, 
claims  to  glory  may  suflBce.  He  was  the  first  traveler  to  trace 
a  route  across  the  whole  longitude  of  Asia,  naming  and  de- 
scribing kingdom  after  kingdom  which  he  had  seen  with  his 
own  eyes;  the  deserts  of  Persia,  the  flowing  plateaus  and  wild 
gorges  of  Beloochistan,  the  jade-bearing  rivers  of  Khotan, 
the  Mongolian  steppes,  cradle  of  the  power  which  had  so 
lately  threatened  to  swallow  up  Christendom ;  the  new  and 
brilliant  court  that  had  been  established  at  Cambaluc ;  the 
first  traveler  to  reveal  China  in  all  its  wealth  and  vastness,  its 
mighty  ruins,  its  huge  cities  its  rich  manufactures,  its 
swarming  population,  the  inconceivably  vast  fleets  that 
quickened  its  seas  and  its  inland  waters ;  to  tell  us  of  the 
nations  on  its  borders,  with  all  their  eccentricities  of  manners 
and  worship ;  of  Thibet  with  its  sordid  devotees,  of  Burmah 
with  its  golden  pagodas  and  their  tinkling  crowns,  of  Caos, 
of  Siam,  of  Cochin-China,  of  Japan,  the  Eastern  Thule,  with 
its  rosy  pearls  and  golden-roofed  palaces;  the  first  to  speak  of 
that  museum  of  beauty  and  wonder,  the  Indian  Archipelago, 


170  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

source  of  the  aromatics  then  so  prized  and  whose  origin  was  so 
dark ;  of  Java,  the  pearl  of  islands ;  of  Sumatra,  with  its  many 
kings,  its  strange  costly  products,  and  its  cannibal  races ;  of  the 
naked  savage  of  Nicobar  and  Andaman ;  of  Ceylon,  the  isle  of 
gems,  with  its  sacred  mountain  and  its  tomb  of  Adam ;  of  India 
the  great,  not  as  a  dreamland  of  Alexandrian  fables,  but  as 
a  country  seen  and  partially  explored,  with  its  virtuous  Brah- 
mins, its  obscure  ascetics,  its  diamonds  and  the  strange  tales 
of  their  acquisition,  its  soabeds  of  pearls,  and  its  powerful 
sun;  the  first  in  mediaeval  times  to  give  any  distinct  accornt 
of  the  secluded  Christian  empire  of  Abyssinia,  and  the  semi- 
Christian  isle  of  Socotra;  to  speak,  though  indeed  dimly,  of 
Zanzibar,  with  its  negroes  and  its  ivory,  and  of  the  vast  and 
distant  Madagascar  bordering  on  that  dark  ocean  of  the 
south,  and  in  a  remotely  opposite  region,  of  Siberia,  and  the 
Arctic  Ocean,  of  dog  sledges,  white  bears,  and  reindeer-riding 
Tanguses. 

We  get  to  the  end  of  this  sentence  with  a  gasp  of 
exhausted  breath.  But  though  it  may  not  be  an 
example  of  style,  in  a  writer  who  has  no  patience 
with  our  Marco's  plainer  diction,  it  is  a  wonderful 
resume  of  one  man's  work,  and  that  a  Venetian 
trader  of  the  thirteenth  century.  His  talk  of  the 
wonders  he  had  seen,  which  amused  and  pleased 
the  lord  ot  all  the  Tartars  in  the  world,  and 
charmed  the  dreary  hours  ot  the  prisoners  in  the 
dungeons  of  Genoa — an  audience  so  different — is 
here  for  us  as  it  came  from  his  lips  in  what  we  may 
well  believe  to  be  the  selfsame  words,  with  the 
same  breaks  and  interruptions,  the  pauses  and 
digressions  which  are  all  so  natural.  The  story  is 
so  wonderful  in  its  simplicity  of  spoken  discourse 
that  it  is  scarcely  surprising  to  know  that  the 
Venetian  gallants  jeered  at  the  Man  of  the  Mil- 
ions  ;  but  it  is  still  full  of  interest,  a  book  not  to  be 
despised  should  it  ever  be  the  reader's  fate  to  be 
shut  up  in  any  dungeon,  or  in  a  desolate  island,  or 
other  enforced  seclusion.  And  not  all  the  flood  of 
light  that  has  been  poured  since  upon  these 
unknown  lands,  not  the  progress  of  science  or  evolu- 
tion, or  any  great  development  of  the  last  six  hun- 
dred years,  has  proved  Messer  Marco  to  have  been 
less  than  trustworthy  and  true. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  171 

Meanwhile  the  archway  in  the  Corte  della  Sab- 
bioaera,  in  its  crowded  corner  behind  San  Crisos- 
tomo,  is  all  that  remains  in  Venice  of  Marco  Polo. 
He  has  his  (imaginary)  bust  in  the  loggia  of  the 
Ducal  Palace,  along  with  many  another  man  who 
has  less  right  to  such  a  distinction,  but  even  his 
grave  is  unkown.  He  lies  probably  at  San  Lorenzo 
among  the  nameless  bones  of  his  fathers,  but  even 
the  monument  his  son  erected  to  Niccolo  has  long 
ago  disappeared.  The  Casa  Polo  is  no  more ;  the 
name  extinct,  the  house  burned  down  except  that 
corner  of  it.  It  would  be  pleasant  to  see  restored 
to  the  locality  at  least  the  name  of  the  Corte 
Millione,  in  remembrance  of  all  the  wonders  he 
told,  and  of  the  gibe  of  the  laughing  youths  to 
whom  his  marvelous  tales  were  first  unfolded;  and 
thus  to  have  Kublai  Khan's  millions  once  more 
associated  with  his  faithful  ambassador's  name. 


CHAPTER  II. 


A    POPULAR    HERO. 


About  seventy  years  after  the  events  above  re- 
corded, in  the  latter  half  of  the  fourteenth  century, 
there  occurred  a  crisis  in  the  life  of  the  Venetian 
republic  of  a  more  alarming  and  terrible  character 
than  had  ever  been  caused  before  by  misfortunes 
external  or  internal.  Since  those  early  times  when 
the  fugitive  fathers  of  the  state  took  refuge  in  the 
marshes  and  began  to  raise  their  miraculous  city  out 
of  the  salt  pools  and  mud-banks,  that  corner  of  the 
Adriatic  had  been  safe  from  all  external  attacks. 
A  raid  from  Aqujleia,  half  ecclesiastical,  half  war- 
like, had  occurred  by  times  in  early  days,  threaten- 
ing Grado  or  even  Torcello,  but  nothing  which  it 
gave  the  city  any  trouble  to  overcome.  The  Greek, 
with  all  his  wiles,  had  much  ado  to  keep  her  con- 
quering galleys  trom  his  coasts,  and  lost  island  after 


172  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

island  without  a  possibility  of  reprisals.  The  Dal 
matian  tribes  kept  her  in  constant  irritation  and 
disturbance,  yet  were  constrained  over  and  over 
again  to  own  her  mistress  of  the  sea,  and  never 
affected  her  home  soveignty.  The  Turk  himself, 
the  most  appalling  of  invaders,  though  his  thunders 
were  heard  near  enough  to  arouse  alarm  and  rage, 
never  got  within  sight  of  the  wonderful  city.  It 
was  reserved  for  her  sister  republic,  born  of  the 
same  mother,  speaking  the  same  language,  moved 
by  the  same  instincts,  Genoa,  from  the  other  side  of 
the  peninsula,  the  rival,  from  her  cradle,  of  the 
other  seaborn  state,  to  make  it  possible,  if  but  for 
one  moment,  that  Venice  might  cease  to  be.  This 
was  during  the  course  of  the  struggle  called  by 
some  of  the  chroniclers  the  fourth,  by  others  the 
seventh,  Genoese  war — a  struggle  as  causeless  and 
as  profitless  as  all  the  wars  between  the  rivals  were; 
resulting  in  endless  misery  and  loss  to  both,  but 
nothing  more.  The  war  in  question  arose  nom- 
inally, as  they  all  did,  from  one  of  the  convulsions 
which  periodically  tore  the  Empire  of  the  East 
asunder,  and  in  which  the  two  trading  states,  the 
rival  merchants,  seeking  ever  pretense  to  push  their 
traffic,  instinctively  took  different  sides.  On  the 
present  occasion  it  was  an  Andronicus  who  had 
dethroned  and  imprisoned  his  father,  as  on  a  former 
occasion  it  had  been  an  Alexius.  Venice  was  on 
the  side  of  the  injured  father,  Genoa  upon  that  of 
the  usurping  son — an  excellent  reason  for  flying  at 
each  other's  throats  wherever  that  was  practicable, 
and  seizing  each  other's  stray  galleys  on  the  high 
seas,  when  there  was  no  bigger  fighting  on  hand. 
It  is  curious  to  remark  that  the  balance  of  success 
was  with  Genoa  in  the  majority  of  these  struggles, 
although  that  state  was  neither  so  great  nor  so 
consistently  independent  as  that  of  Venice.  Our 
last  chapter  recorded  the  complete  and  ignominious 
rout  of  the  great  Venetian  squadron  in  which 
Marco  Polo  was  a  volunteer,  in  the  beginning  of  the 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  173 

century;  and  seventy  years  later,  1379,  ^he  fortune 
of  war  was  still  the  same.  In  distant  seas  tlie 
piracies  and  lesser  triumphs  of  both  powers  main- 
tained a  sort  of  wavering  equality,  but  when  it  came 
to  a  great  engagement  Genoa  had  generally  the 
upper  hand. 

The  rival  republic  was  also  at  this  period  re- 
enforced  by  many  allies.  The  Carrarese,  masters 
of  Padua  and  all  the  rich  surrounding  plains,  the 
nearest  neighbors  of  Venice,  afterward  her  victims, 
had  joined  the  league  against  her.  So  had  the  King 
of  Hungary,  a  hereditary  foe,  ever  on  the  watch  to 
snatch  a  Dalmatian  city  out  of  the  grip  of  Venice, 
and  the  Patriarch  of  Aquileia,  a  great  ecclesiastical 
prince,  who  from  generation  to  generation  never 
seems  to  have  forgiven  the  withdrawal  of  Venice 
from  his  sway  and  the  erection  of  Grado  into  a  rival 
primacy.  This  strong  league  against  her  did  not 
at  first  daunt  the  proud  republic,  who  collecting  all 
her  forces,  sent  out  a  powerful  expedition,  and  so 
long  as  the  war  went  on  at  a  distance  regarded  it,  if 
not  without  anxiety,  yet  with  more  wrath  than  fear. 
But  when  Vittore  Pisani,  the  beloved  admiral  in 
whose  powers  all  Venice  believed,  was  defeated  at 
Pola,  a  thrill  of  alarm  ran  through  the  city,  shortly 
to  be  raised  into  the  utmost  passion  of  fear.  Pisani 
himself  and  a  few  of  his  captains  escaped  from  the 
rout,  which  v/as  so  complete  that  the  historian  rec- 
ords "almost  all  the  Venetian  sea  forces"  to  have 
been  destroyed.  Two  thousand  prisoners,  Sabellico 
tells,  were  taken  by  the  Genoese  and  the  entire  fleet 
cut  to  pieces.  When  the  beaten  admiral  arrived  in 
Veoifce  he  met  what  was  in  those  days  the  usual  fate 
of  a  defeated  leader,  and  was  thrown  into  prison; 
but  not  on  this  occasion  with  the  consent  of  the  pop- 
ulace, who  loved  him,  and  believed  that  envy  on 
the  part  of  certain  powerful  persons,  and  not  any 
fault  of  his,  was  the  occasion  of  his  condemnation. 
After  this  a  continued  succession  of  misfortunes 
befell  the  republic.    What  other  ships  she  had  were 


174  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

away  m  Eastern  seas,  and  the  authorities  seem  to 
have  been  for  the  moment  paralyzed.  Town  after 
town  was  taken.  Grado  once  more  fell  into  the 
power  of  that  pitiless  patriarch;  and  the  Genoese 
held  the  mastery  of  the  Adriatic.  The  Venetians, 
looking  on  from  the  Lido,  saw  with  eyes  that 
almost  refused  to  believe  such  a  possibility,  with 
tears  ot  rage  and  shame,  one  of  their  own  merchant- 
men pursued  and  taken  by  the  Genoese,  and  plun- 
dered and  burned  while  they  looked  on,  within  a 
mile  of  the  shore.  The  enemy  took  Pelestrina;  they 
took  part  of  Chioggia,  burning  and  sacking  every- 
where, then  sailed  off  triumphant  to  the  turbulent 
Zara,  which  they  had  made  their  own,  dragging  the 
Venetian  banners  which  they  had  taken  at  Pola 
through  the  water  as  they  sailed  triumphantly 
away.  The  Venetian  Senate,  stung  to  the  quick, 
attempted,  it  would  seem,  to  raise  another  fleet; 
but  in  vain,  the  sailors  refusing  to  inscribe  them- 
selves under  any  leader  but  Pisani.  A  few  vessels 
were  with  difficulty  armed  to  defend  the  port  and 
Lido,  upon  which  hasty  fortifications,  great  towers 
of  wood,  were  raised,  with  chains  drawn  across  the 
navigable  channels  and  barges  sunk  to  make  the 
watery  ways  impassable.  When,  however,  the 
enemy,  returning  and  finding  the  coast  without 
defense,  recaptured,  one  after  another,  the  Vene- 
tian strongholds  on  the  west  side  of  the  Adriatic, 
and  finally  took  possession  in  force  of  Chioggia,  the 
populace  took  up  the  panic  of  their  rulers. 

When  the  fall  of  Chioggia  was  known,  which  was  toward 
midnight,  the  city  being  taken  in  the  morning,  there  arose 
such  a  terror  in  the  Palace  that  as  soon  as  day  dawned  there 
was  a  general  summons  to  arms,  and  from  all  quarters  the 
people  rushed  toward  the  Piazza.  The  court  and  square  were 
crowded  with  the  multitude  of  citizens.  The  news  of  the  tak- 
ing of  Chioggia  was  then  published  by  order  of  the  Senate, 
upon  which  there  arose  such  a  cry  and  such  lamentations  as 
could  not  have  been  greater  had  Venice  itself  been  lost.  The 
women  throughout  the  city  went  about  weeping,  now  raising 
their  arms  to  heaven,  now  beating  upon  their  breasts ;  the 
men  stood  talking  together  of  the  public  misfortune,  and  that 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  175 

there  was  now  no  hope  of  saving  the  republic,  but  that  the 
entire  dominion  would  be  lost.  They  mourned  each  his  pri- 
vate loss,  but  still  more  the  danger  of  losing  their  freedom. 
All  believed  that  the  Genoese  would  press  on  at  once,  overrun 
all  the  territory,  and  destroy  the  Venetian  name ;  and  they 
held  consultations  how  to  save  their  possessions,  money,  and 
jewels,  whether  they  should  send  them  to  distant  places,  or 
hide  them  underground  in  the  monasteries.  All  joined  in  this 
lamentation  and  panic,  and  many  believed  that  if  in  this 
moment  of  terror  the  enemy's  fleet  had  pressed  on  to  the  city, 
either  it  would  have  fallen  at  once  or  would  have  been  in  the 
greatest  danger. 

**But,"  adds  Sabellico  piously,  *'God  does  not 
show  everything  to  one  man.  Many  know  how  to 
win  a  battle,  but  not  how  to  follow  up  the  victory." 
This  fact,  which  has  stood  the  human  race  in  stead 
at  many  moments  of  alarm,  save  Venice.  The 
Genoese  did  not  venture  to  push  their  victory ;  but 
their  presence  at  Chioggia,  especially  in  view  of 
their  alliance  with  Carrara  at  Padua,  was  almost  as 
alarming.  The  Venetian  ships  were  shut  out  from 
the  port,  the  supplies  by  land  equally  interrupted ; 
only  from  Treviso  could  any  provisions  reach  the  city 
and  the  scarcity  began  at  once  to  be  felt.  Worse, 
however,  than  any  of  the  practical  miseries  which 
surrounded  Venice  was  the  want  of  a  leader  or  any- 
one in  whom  the  people  could  trust.  The  doge  was 
Andrea  Contarini,  a  name  to  which  much  of  the 
fame  of  the  eventual  success  has  been  attributed, 
but  it  does  not  seem  in  this  terrible  crisis  to  have 
inspired  the  public  mind  with  any  confidence. 
After  the  pause  of  panic,  and  the  troubled  consulta- 
tions of  this  moment  of  despair,  one  thought  sud- 
denly seized  the  mind  of  Venice.  *' Finally  all 
concluded  that  in  the  whole  city  there  was  but  one 
Pisani,  and  that  he,  who  was  dear  to  all,  might  still 
secure  the  public  safety  in  this  terrible  and  danger- 
ous crisis. ' '  That  he  should  lie  in  prison  and  in 
darkness,  this  man  whose  appearance  alone  would 
give  new  heart  to  the  city!  There  was  a  general 
rush  toward  the  Palazzo  when  this  thought  first 
burst  into  words  and  flew   from  one   to  another. 


176  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

The  Senate,  unable  to  resist,  notwithstanding  "the 
envy  of  certain  nobles, ' '  conceded  the  prayer  of  the 
people.  And  here  for  a  moment  the  tumultuous 
and  complicated  story  pauses  to  give  us  a  glimpse 
of  the  man  che  ad  ognuno  era  molto  caroy  as  the  histo- 
rian, impressed  by  the  universal  sentiment,  assures 
us  again  and  again.  The  whole  population  had 
assembled  in  the  Piazza  to  receive  him : 

But  so  great  was  his  modesty  that  he  preferred  to  remain 
for  this  night  in  the  prison,  where  he  begged  that  a  priest 
might  be  sent  to  him,  and  confessed,  and  as  soon  as  it  was 
day  went  out  into  the  court,  and  to  the  church  of  San  Niccolo, 
where  he  received  the  precious  Sacrament  of  the  Host,  in 
order  to  show  that  he  had  pardoned  every  injury  both  put)lic 
and  private ;  and  having  done  this  he  made  his  appearance 
before  the  Prince  and  the  Signoria.  Having  made  his  rever- 
ence to  the  Senate,  not  with  angry  or  even  troubled  looks,  but 
with  a  countenance  glad  and  joyful,  he  placed  himself  at  the 
feet  of  the  doge,  who  thus  addressed  him:  "On  a  former 
occasion,  Vittore,  it  was  our  business  to  execute  justice;  it  is 
now  the  time  to  grant  grace.  It  was  commanded  that  you 
should  be  imprisoned  for  the  defeat  of  Pola ;  now  we  will  that 
you  should  be  set  free.  We  will  not  inquire  if  this  is  a  just 
thing  or  not,  but  leaving  the  past,  desire  you  to  consider  the 
present  state  of  the  republic  and  the  necessity  for  preserving 
and  defending  it,  and  so  to  act  that  you  fellow-citizens,  who 
honor  you  for  your  great  bearing,  may  owe  to  you  their 
safety,  both  public  and  private. ' '  Pisani  made  answer  in  this 
wise:  "There  is  no  punishment,  most  serene  Prince,  which 
can  come  to  me  from  you  «r  from  the  others  who  govern  the 
republic  which  1  should  not  bear  with  a  good  heart,  as  a  good 
citizen  ought.  I  know,  most  serene  Prince,  that  all  things 
are  done  for  the  good  of  the  republic,  for  which  I  do  not 
doubt  all  your  counsels  and  regulation  are  framed.  As  for 
private  grievances,  I  am  so  far  from  thinking  that  they  should 
work  harm  to  anyone  that  I  have  this  day  received  the  Blessed 
Sacrament,  and  been  present  at  the  Holy  Sacrifice,  that  noth- 
ing may  be  more  evident  than  that  I  have  forever  forgotten 
to  hate  any  man.  ...  As  for  what  you  say  inviting  me  to 
save  the  republic,  I  desire  nothing  more  than  to  obey  it,  and 
will  gladly  endeavor  to  defend  her,  and  God  grant  that  1  may 
be  he  who  may  deliver  her  from  peril,  by  whatsoever  way, 
with  my  best  thought  and  care,  for  I  know  that  the  will  shall 
not  be  wanting. "  With  these  words  he  embraced  and  kissed 
the  Prince  with  many  tears,  and  so  went  to  his  house,  passing 
through  the  joyful  multitude,  and  accorn'mnied  by  the  entire 
people. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  177 

It  may  afford  some  explanation  of  the  low  ebb  to 
which  Venice  had  come  at  this  crisis,  that  not  even 
now  was  Pisani  appointed  to  the  first  command, 
and  it  was  only  after  another  popular  rising  that  the 
invidia  d  alcuni  nobili  was  finally  defeated,  and  he 
was  put  in  his  proper  place  as  commander  of  the 
fleet.  When  this  was  accomplished  the  sailors 
enlisted  in  such  numbers  that  in  three  days  six  gal- 
leys were  fully  equipped  to  sail  under  the  beloved 
commander,  along  with  a  great  number  of  smaller 
vessels,  such  as  were  needful  for  the  narrow  chan- 
nels about  Chioggia,  only  navigable  by  light  flat- 
bottomed  boats  and  barges.  A  few  successes  fell 
to  Pisani's  share  at  first,  which  raised  the  spirits  of 
the  Venetians,  and  another  fleet  of  forty  galleys  was 
equipped,  commanded  by  the  doge  himself,  in  the 
hope  of  complete  victory.  But  it  was  with  the 
greatest  difficulty  that  the  city,  once  so  rich,  could 
get  together  money  enough  to  prepare  these  arma- 
ments; and  poverty  and  famine  were  in  her  streets, 
deserted  by  all  the  able-bodied  and  left  to  the  fear 
and  melancholy  anticipations  of  the  weaker  part  of 
the  population.  To  meet  this  emergency  the  Senate 
published  a  proclamation  holding  out  to  all  who 
would  furnish  money  or  ships  or  men,  the  prize  of 
admission  into  the  Great  Council,  offering  that 
much-coveted  promotion  to  thirty  new  families  from 
among  the  most  liberal  citizens,  and  promising  to 
the  less  wealthy  or  less  willing  interest  for  their 
money,  five  thousand  ducats  to  be  distributed 
among  them  yearly.  "Many  moved  by  the  hope  of 
such  a  dignity,  some  also  for  love  of  their  country," 
says  Sabellico,  came  forward  with  their  offerings, 
no  less  than  sixty  families  thus  distinguishing  them- 
selves; and  many  fine  deeds  were  done.  Among 
others  there  is  mention  made  of  a  once  rich  Chiog- 
giote,  Matteo  Fasnolo  by  name,  who,  having  lost 
everything,  presented  himself  and  his  two  sons,  all 
that  was  left  to  him,  to  give  their  lives  for  the 
republic. 

12  Venice 


178  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

The  rout  of  Pola  took  place  in  March,  1379;  i^^ 
August  the  Genoese  took  possession  of  Chioggia 
and  sat  down  at  the  gates  of  Venice.  It  was  as  if 
the  mouth  of  the  Thames  had  been  in  possession  of 
an  assailant  of  London,  with  this  additional  misfor- 
tune, that  the  country  behind,  the  storehouse  and 
supply  on  ordinary  occasions  ot  the  city,  was  also  in 
the  possession  of  her  enemies.  How  it  came  about 
that  Pisani  with  his  galleys  and  innumerable  barks, 
and  the  doge  with  his  great  fleet,  did  next  to  noth- 
ing against  these  bold  invaders,  it  seems  impossible 
to  tell.  The  showers  of  arrows  with  which  they 
harassed  each  other,  the  great  wooden  towers  erected 
on  both  sides,  for  attack  and  defense,  were,  no 
doubt,  very  different  from  anything  that  armies 
and  fleets  have  trusted  in  since  the  days  of  artillery. 
But  with  all  these  disadvantages  it  seems  wonderful 
that  this  state  of  affairs  should  languish  on  through 
the  winter  months— then  universally  considered  a 
time  for  rest  in  port  and  not  for  action  on  the  seas 
— without  any  result.  A  continual  succession  of 
little  encounters,  sallies  of  the  Genoese,  assaults  of 
the  besiegers,  sometimes  ending  in  a  trifling  victory, 
sometimes  only  adding  to  the  number  ot  the  name- 
less sufferers — the  sailors  sweating  at  the  oars,  the 
bowmen  on  the  deck — went  on  for  month  after 
month.  The  doge's  fleet,  according  to  one  account, 
went  back  every  night  to  Venice ;  the  men  sleeping 
at  home  and  returning  to  their  hopeless  work  every 
day,  with  it  may  be  supposed,  but  little  heart  for 
it.  And  not  only  their  enemies  but  all  the  evils  of 
the  season,  cold  and  snow  and  storm,  fought  against 
the  Venetians.  Sometimes  they  would  be  driven 
apart  by  the  tempestous  weather,  losing  sight  of 
each  other,  occasionally  even  coming  to  disastrous 
shipwreck;  and  lovely  as  are  the  lagoons  under 
most  aspects,  it  is  impossible  to  imagine  anything 
more  dreary  and  miserable  than  the  network  of 
slimy  passages  among  the  marshes,  and  the  gray 
wastes  of  sea  around,    in  the  mists  and  chill  of 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  179 

December,  and  amid  the  perpetual  failures  and 
defeats  of  an  ever  unsuccessful  conflict.  Want  grew 
to  famine  in  Venice,  her  supplies  being  stopped 
and  her  trade  destroyed;  and  even  the  rich  plebe- 
ians, who  had  strained  their  utmost  to  benefit  their 
country  and  gain  the  promised  nobility,  began  to 
show  signs  of  exhaustion,  and  "the  one  Pisani, "  in 
whom  the  city  had  placed  such  entire  confidence, — 
though,  wonderfully  enough,  he  does  not  seem  to 
have  lost  his  hold  upon  the  popular  affections, — had 
not  been  able  to  deliver  his  country.  In  these  cir- 
cumstances the  eyes  of  all  began  to  turn  with  fever- 
ish impatience  to  another  captain,  distant  upon  the 
high  seas,  after  whom  the  Senate  had  dispatched 
message  after  message,  to  call  him  back  with  his 
galleys  to  the  help  of  the  republic.  He  was  the 
only  hope  that  remained  in  the  dark  mid- winter; 
when  all  their  expedients  failed  them,  and  all  their 
efforts  proved  unsucessful,  there  remained  still  a 
glimmer  ot  possibility  that  all  might  go  well  if  Carlo 
were  but  there. 

Carlo  Zeno,  the  object  of  this  last  hope,  at  the 
moment  careering  over  the  seas  at  the  head  of  an 
active  and  daring  little  fleet,  which  had  been 
engaged  in  making  reprisals  upon  the  Genoese 
coasts,  carrying  fire  and  flame  along  the  eastern 
Riviera — and  which  was  now  fighting  the  battles  of 
Venice  against  everything  that  bore  the  flag  of 
Genoa,  great  or  small — was  a  man  formed  on  all  the 
ancient  traditions  of  the  republic,  a  soldier,  a  sailor 
a  merchant,  adventurer,  and  orator,  a  born  leader 
of  men.  Of  the  house  of  Zeno,  his  mother  a  Dan- 
dolo,  no  better  blood  is  in  the  Golden  Book  (not 
then,  however,  in  existence)  than  that  which  ran  in 
his  veins;  and  his  adventurous  life  and  career  were 
most  apt  to  fire  the  imagination  and  delight  the  pop- 
ular fancy.  His  father  had  died,  a  kind  of  martyr 
for  the  faith,  in  an  expedition  for  the  relief  of 
Smyrna,  when  Carlo  was  but  seven  years  old.  He 
was  then  sent  to  the  Pope  at  Avignon,  who  endowed 


180  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

the  orphan  with  a  canonicate  at  Patras,  apparently 
a  rich  benefice.  But  the  boy  was  not  destined  to 
live  the  peaceful  life  of  an  ecclesiastical  dignitary. 
He  passed  through  the  stormy  youth  which  in  those 
days  was  so  often  the  beginning  of  a  heroic  career 
— ran  wild  at  Padua,  where  he  was  sent  to  study, 
lost  all  that  he  had  at  play,  and  having  sold  even  his 
books,  enlisted,  as  would  appear,  in  some  troop  of 
free  lances,  in  which  for  five  years  he  was  lost  to  his 
friends,  but  learned  the  art  of  war,  to  his  great  after 
profit  and  the  good  of  his  country.  When,  after 
having  roamed  all  Italy  through,  he  reappeared  in 
Venice,  his  family,  it  is  probable,  made  little  effort 
to  prevent  the  young  trooper  from  proceeding  to 
Greece  to  take  up  his  canon's  stall,  for  which,  no 
doubt,  these  wanderings  had  curiously  prepared 
him.  His  biography,  written  by  his  grandson, 
Jacopo,  Bishop  of  Padua,  narrates  all  the  incidents 
of  his  early  life  in  full  detail.  At  Patras,  the 
adventurous  youth,  then  only  twenty-two,  was  very 
soon  placed  in  the  front  during  the  incessant  wars 
with  the  Turks,  which  kept  that  remote  community 
in  perpetual  turmoil — and  managed  both  the  st  rategy 
of  war  and  the  arts  of  statesmanship  with  such 
ability  that  he  obtained  an  honorable  peace  and  the 
withdrawal  of  the  enemy  on  the  payment  of  a  cer- 
tain indemnity.  However  great  may  be  the  danger 
which  is  escaped  in  this  way,  there  are  always 
objectors  who  consider  that  better  terms  might  have 
been  made.  "Human  nature,"  says  Bishop  Jacopo, 
*'is  a  miserable  thing,  and  virtue  always  finds 
enemies,  nor  was  anything  ever  so  well  done  but 
envy  found  means  of  spoiling  and  misrepresenting 
it."  Carlo  did  not  escape  this  common  fate,  and 
the  Greek  Governor,  taking  part  with  his  adversar- 
ies, deprived  him  of  his  canonicate.  Highly  indig- 
nant at  this  affront,  the  angry  youth  threw  up  'Var- 
ious other  ecclesiastical  dignities,"  which  we  are 
told  he  possessed  in  various  parts  of  Greece :  where- 
upon his  life  took  an  aspect  much  more  harmonious 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  181 

with  his  character  and  pursuits,  "Fortune,"  says 
our  bishop,  '*  never  forsakes  him  who  has  a  great 
soul.  There  was  in  Chiarenza  a  noble  lady  of  great 
wealth,  who  having  heard  of  Carlo's  achievements, 
and  marveling  at  the  greatness  of  his  spirit,  con- 
ceived a  desire  to  have  him  for  her  husband.  And 
Carlo,  being  now  free  from  the  ecclesiastical  yoke, 
was  at  libert)''  to  take  a  wife,  and  willingly  con- 
tracted matrimony  with  her."  This  marriage, 
however,  was  not  apparently  of  very  long  dura- 
tion, for  scarcely  had  he  cleared  himself  of  all  the 
intrigues  against  him,  when  his  wife  died,  leaving 
him  as  poor  as  before.  "Her  death,  which,  as  was 
befitting,  he  lamented  duly,  did  him  a  double  injury, 
for  he  lost  his  wife  and  her  wealth  together,  her 
property  consisting  entirely  of  feoffs,  which  fell  at 
her  death  to  the  Prince  of  Achaia. "  This  misfor- 
tune changed  the  current  of  his  life.  He  returned 
to  Venice,  and  after  a  proper  interval  married  again, 
a  lady  of  the  house  of  Giustiniani.  "Soon  after, 
reflecting  that  in  a  maritime  country  trade  is  of  the 
highest  utility,  and  that  it  was  indeed  the  chief  sus- 
tenance of  his  city,  he  made  up  his  mind  to  adopt 
the  life  of  a  merchant;  and  leaving  Venice  with 
this  intention,  remained  seven  years  absent,  living 
partly  in  a  castle  called  Tanai  on  the  banks  of  the 
river  Tanai,  and  partly  in  Constantinople." 

Such  had  been  the  life,  full  of  variety  and  expe- 
rience, of  the  man  to  whom  the  eyes  of  Venice  turned 
in  her  humiliation.  He  had  been  all  over  Italy  in 
his  youth,  during  that  wild  career  which  carried 
him  out  of  the  view  of  his  family  and  friends.  He 
had  been  even  further  afield  in  France,  Germany, 
and  England,  in  a  short  episode  of  service  under 
the  Emperor  Charles  IV. ,  between  two  visits  alia 
sua  chiesha  di  Patrasso.  He  had  fought  the  Turks 
and  led  the  armaments  of  Achaia  during  his  resi- 
dence at  his  canonicate;  and  now,  all  these  tumults 
over,  resettled  into  the  natural  position  of  a  Vene- 
ian,  with  a  Venetian   wife  and  all  the  traditions  of 


182  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

his  race  to  shape  his  career;  had  taken  to  com- 
merce, peacefully,  so  far  as  the  time  permitted,  in 
those  golden  lands  of  the  East  where  it  was  the 
wont  of  his  countrymen  to  make  their  fortunes. 
And  success,  it  would  appear,  had  not  forsaken  cht 
ha-V aninta  grande^  the  man  of  great  mind — for  when 
he  reappeared  in  Venice  it  was  with  a  magnificence 
of  help  to  the  republic  which  only  a  man  of  wealth 
could  give.  He  was  still  engaged  in  peaceful  occu- 
pations when  war  broke  out  between  Genoa  and 
Venice.  Carlo  had  already  compromised  himself  by 
an  attempt  to  free  the  dethroned  emperor,  and  had 
been  in  great  danger  in  Constantinople,  accused 
before  the  Venetian  governor  of  treasonable  prac- 
tices, and  only  saved  by  the  arrival  of  the  great  con- 
voy from  Venice  *' which  reached  Constantinople 
every  year,"  and  in  which  he  had  friends.  Even 
at  this  time  he  is  said  to  have  had  soldiers  in  his 
service,  probably  for  the  protection  of  his  trade  in 
the  midst  of  the  continual  tumults;  and  his  his- 
torian declares  that  no  sooner  had  he  escaped  from 
Constantinople  than  he  began  to  act  energetically 
for  the  republic;  securing  to  Venice  the  wavering 
allegiance  of  the  island  of  Tenedos,  from  which  the 
Venetian  galleys  under  his  (part)  command  chased 
off  the  emissaries  of  the  emperor,  and  where  a 
Venetian  garrison  was  installed.  His  first  direct 
action  in  the  service  of  the  state,  however,  would 
seem  to  have  been  that  sudden  raid  upon  the 
Genoese  coast  at  the  very  beginning  of  the  war,  to 
which  we  have  referred,  with  the  purpose  of  mak- 
ing a  diversion  and,  if  possible,  calling  back  to  the 
defense  of  their  own  city  the  triumphant  armies  of 
Genoa.  This  intention,  however,  was  not  carried 
out  by  the  result,  though  otherwise  the  expedition 
was  so  successful  that  "the  name  of  Carlo  Zeno," 
says  his  historian,  writing  more  than  a  hundred 
years  after,  **is  terrible  to  that  city  even  to  the 
present  day."  After  this  exploit  he  seems  to  have 
returned  to  the  east,  per  neiiafe  la  mare^  sweeping 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  1^3 

the  sea  clear  of  every  Genoese  vessel  that  came  in 
his  way,  and  calling  at  every  rebellious  port  with 
much  effect. 

In  the  midst  of  these  engagements  the  news  of 
the  defeat  at  Pola  did  not  reach  him  till  long  after 
the  event,  and  even  the  messengers  dispatched  by 
the  Senate,  one  boat  after  another,  failed  to  find 
the  active  and  unwearied  seaman  as  he  swept  the 
seas.  Such  a  ubiquitous  career — now  here,  now 
there,  darting  from  one  point  to  another  with  a 
celerity  which  was  a  marvel  in  those  days  of  slow 
sailing  and  long  pauses,  and  the  almost  invariable 
success  which  seemed  to  attend  him — gave  Carlo  a 
singular  charm  to  the  popular  imagination.  No 
one  was  more  successful  at  sea,  n^o  one  half  so  suc- 
cessful on  land  as  this  leader,  suddenly  improvised 
by  his  own  great  deeds  in  the  very  moment  of  need, 
whose  adventures  had  given  him  experience  ot 
everything  that  the  mediaeval  world  knew,  and  who 
had  the  special  gift  of  his  race  in  addition  to  every- 
thing else — the  power  of  the  orator  over  a  people 
specially  open  to  that  influence.  Sanudo  says  that 
Carlo  at  first  refused  to  obey  the  commands  of  the 
Senate,  preferring  the  nettar  la  mare  to  that  more 
dangerous  work  of  dislonging  the  Genoese  from 
Chioggia.  But  there  would  seem  to  be  no  real 
warrant  for  this  assertion.  The  messengers  were 
slow  to  reach  him.  They  arrived  when  his  hands 
were  still  full  and  when  it  was  difficult  to  give  im- 
mediate obedience;  and  when  he  did  set  out  to 
obey,  a  strong  temptation  fell  in  his  way  and  for  a 
time  delayed  his  progress.  This  was  a  great  ship 
from  Genoa,  the  description  of  which  is  like  that  of 
the  galleons  which  tempted  Drake  and  his  brother 
mariners.  It  was  grande  oltre  misura,  a  bigger  ship 
than  had  ever  been  seen,  quite  beyond  the  habits 
and  dimensions  of  the  time,  laden  with  wealth  of 
every  kind,  and  an  enormous  crew,  *'for  besides 
the  sailors  and  the  bowmen  it  carried  two  hundred 
Genoese,  each  of  whom  was  a  senator  or  a  son  of  a 


184  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

senator.**  It  was  winter,  and  the  great  vessel  was 
more  at  home  on  the  high  seas  than  the  navigli 
leggieri  with  which  our  hero  had  been  flying  from 
island  to  island.  The  sight  of  that  nimble  fleet  filled 
the  Genoese  commander  with  alarm ;  and  he  set  all 
sail  to  get  out  of  their  way.  It  was  evidently  con- 
sidered a  mighty  piece  of  daring  to  attack  such  a 
ship  at  all,  or  even  to  be  out  at  all  at  such  a  season 
instead  of  in  port,  as  sensible  galleys  always  were 
in  winter.  When,  however,  the  wind  dropped  and 
the  course  of  the  big  vessel  was  arrested,  Carlo's 
opportunity  came.  He  called  his  crews  together 
and  made  them  a  speech,  which  seems  to  have  been 
his  habit.  The  vessels  collected  in  a  cluster  round 
the  high  prow  on  which  he  stood,  reaching  with  his 
great  voice  in  the  hush  of  the  calm  all  the  listening 
crews,  must  have  been  such  a  sight  as  none  of  our 
modern  wonders  could  parallel ;  and  he  was  as  em- 
phatic as  Nelson,  if  much  longer  winded.  The 
great  Bichignona,,  with  her  huge  sails,  drooping  and 
no  wind  to  help  her  from  her  pursuers,  was  no 
doubt  lying  in  sight,  giving  tremendous  meaning 
to  his  oration.  **Men,"  he  cried,  *'valente  uomini, 
if  you  were  ever  prompt  and  ardent  in  battle,  now  is 
the  time  to  prove  yourselves  so.  You  have  to  do 
with  the  Genoese,  your  bitter  and  cruel  enemies, 
whose  whole  endeavor  is  to  extinguish  the  Venetian 
name.  They  have  beaten  our  fleet  at  Pola,  with 
great  bloodshed;  they  have  occupied  Chioggia;  and 
our  city  itself  will  soon  be  assailed  by  them  to 
reduce  her  to  nothing;  killing  your  wives  and 
children,  and  destroying  your  property  and,  every- 
thing there  by  fire  and  sword.  Up  then,  my 
brothers,  compagm  mieif  despise  not  the  occasion 
here  offered  to  you  to  strike  a  telling  blow ;  which, 
if  you  do,  the  enemy  shall  pay  dearly  for  their  mad- 
ness, as  they  well  deserve,  and  you,  joyful  and  full 
of  honor,  will  deliver  Venice  and  your  wives  and 
children  from  ruin  and  calamity." 
When  he  had   ended  this   speech  he  caused  the 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  186 

trumpets  to  sound  the  signal  of  attack.  The  oars 
swept  forth,  the  galleys  rushed  with  their  high- 
beaked  prows  like  so  many  strange  birds  of  prey 
round  the  big,  helpless,  overcrowded  ship.  *'They 
fought  with  partisans,  darts,  arrows,  and  every  kind 
of  arm ;  but  the  lances  from  the  ship  were  more  vehe- 
ment as  reaching  from  a  higher  elevation,  the  form 
of  the  ship  [nave']  being  higher  than  the  galleys, 
which  were  long  and  low ;  nevertheless  the  courage 
of  the  Venetians  and  their  science  in  warfare  were 
so  great  that  they  overcame  every  difficulty.  Thus, " 
goes  on  the  historian,  *'this  ship  was  taken,  which 
in  size  exceeded  everything  known  in  that  age." 
Carlo  dragged  his  prey  to  Rhodes,  *'not  without 
difficulty,"  and  there  burned  her,  giving  up  the 
immense  booty  to  his  sailors  and  soldiers;  then  "re- 
calling to  his  mind  his  country,"  with  great  trouble 
got  his  men  together  laden  with  their  spoils,  and, 
toiling  day  and  night  without  thought  of  danger  or 
fatigue,  at  length  reached  the  Adriatic.  Calling  at 
an  Italian  port  on  his  way  to  victual  his  ships,  he 
found  other  letters  from  the  Senate  still  more  im- 
perative, and  on  the  ist  day  of  January,  1380,  he 
arrived  before  Chioggia,  where  lay  all  the  force  that 
remained  to  Venice,  and  where  his  appearance  had 
been  anxiously  looked  for,  for  many  a  weary  day. 

The  state  of  the  republic  would  appear  to  have 
been  all  but  desperate  at  this  miserable  moment. 
After  endless  comings  and  goings,  partial  victories 
now  and  then  which  raised  their  spirits  for  the  mo- 
ment, but  a  ceaseless  course  of  harassing  and 
fatiguing  conflict  in  narrow  waters  where  scarcely 
two  galleys  could  keep  abreast,  and  where  the 
Venetians  were  subject  to  constant  showers  of 
arrows  from  the  Genoese  fortifications,  the  two 
fleets,  one  of  them  under  the  doge,  the  other  under 
Pisani,  seem  to  have  lost  heart  simultaneously.  In 
the  galleys  under  the  command  of  Contarini  were 
many  if  not  all  the  members  of  the  Senate,  who  had 
^rom  the  beginning  shown  the  teeblest  heart;  and 


186  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

meetings  were  held,  and  timorous  and  terrified  con-, 
saltations,  unworthy  their  name  and  race,  as  to  the 
possibility  of  throwing  up  the  struggle  altogether, 
leaving  Venice  to  her  fate,  and  taking  refuge  in 
Candia,  or  even  Constantinople,  where  these  ter- 
rified statesmen,  unused  to  the  miseries  of  a  winter 
campaign  on  board  ship,  and  the  incessant  watch- 
ings  and  fighting  in  which  they  had  to  take  their 
part,  thought  it  might  be  possible  to  begin  again, 
as  their  fathers  had  done.  While  these  cowardly 
counsels  were  being  whispered  in  each  others'  ears, 
on  one  hand,  on  the  other,  the  crews  with  greater 
reason  were  on  the  verge  of  mutiny. 

The  galleys  were  so  riddled  with  the  arrows  of  the  enemy 
that  the  sailors  in  desperation  cried  with  one  voice  that  the 
siege  must  be  relinquished,  that  otherwise  all  that  were  in  the 
galleys  round  Chioggia  were  dead  men.  Those  also  who  held 
the  banks,  fearing  that  the  squadrons  of  Carrara  would  fall 
upon  them  from  behind,  demanded  anxiously  to  be  liberated, 
and  that  the  defense  of  the  coast  should  be  abandoned.  Pisani 
besought  them  to  endure  a  little  longer,  since  in  a  few  days 
Carlo  Zeno  must  arrive,  adding  both  men  and  ships  to  the 
armata,  so  that  the  Genoese  in  their  turn  would  lose  heart. 
Equal  desperation  of  mind  was  in  the  other  division  of  the 
fleet,  where  cold,  hunger,  and  the  deadly  showers  of  arrows 
which  were  continually  directed  against  the  galleys,  had  so 
broken  and  worn  out  all  spirit  that  soldiers  and  all  who  were 
on  board  thought  rather  of  flight  than  combat.  The  presence 
of  the  doge  somewhat  sustained  the  multitude,  and  the  exhor- 
tation he  made,  showing  them  what  shame  and  danger  would 
arise  to  their  country  if  they  raised  the  siege,  since  the 
Genoese,  seeing  them  depart,  would  immediately  follow  them 
to  Venice.  But  neither  by  prayers  nor  by  promises  could  the 
spirits  of  the  men  be  emboldened  to  contmue  the  siege.  And 
things  had  come  to  such  a  pitch  that,  tor  two  days,  one  after 
the  other  on  either  side  had  determined  to  raise  the  siege, 
when  Carlo  Zeno,  just  in  time,  with  fourteen  galleys  fully 
equipped  with  provisions  and  men,  about  noon,  as  if  sent  by 
God,  entered  the  port  of  Chioggia. 

Carlo  turned  the  balance,  and  supplied  at  once  the 
stimulus  needed  to  encourage  these  despairing 
squadrons,  unmanned  by  continual  failure  and  by 
all  the  miseries  of  sea  and  war;  troubles  to  which 
tl;ie  greater  part  were  unaccustomed,  since  in  the 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  187 

failure  of  fighting  men  this  armada  of  despair  had 
been  filled  up  by  unaccustomed  hands — mostly 
artisans,  says  Sabellico — whose  discouragement  is 
more  pardonable.  Great  was  the  joy  of  the  Vene- 
tians, continues  the  same  authority,  "when  they 
heard  what  Carlo  had  done;  how  he  had  sunk  in 
the  high  seas  seventy  ships  of  divers  kinds  belong- 
ing to  the  enemy,  and  the  great  bark  Bichignona, 
and  taken  three  hundred  Genoese  merchants,  and 
three  hundred  thousand  ducats  of  booty,  besides 
seamen  and  other  prisoners.  "  The  newcomer  passed 
on  to  Pisani  after  he  had  cheered  the  doge's  squad- 
ron, and  spread  joy  around,  even  the  contingent 
upon  the  coast  taking  heart;  and  another  arrival 
from  Candia  taking  place  almost  at  the  same  mo- 
ment, the  Venetians  found  themselves  in  possession 
of  fifty-two  galleys,  many  o^  them  now  manned 
with  veterans,  and  feared  the  enemy  no  more. 

It  is  impossible  to  follow  in  detail  the  after  inci- 
dents of  this  famous  siege.  Carlo  in  concert  with, 
and  partial  subordination  to,  Pisani,  succeeded  in 
blockading  Chioggia  so  completely  that  the  enemy 
began  to  feel  the  same  stress  of  famine  which  they 
had  inflicted  upon  the  Venetians.  But  the  various 
attacks  and  assaults,  the  varying  fortunes  of  the 
besieged  and  besiegers,  are  too  many  to  be  re- 
corded, as  the  painstaking  and  leisurely  chronicler 
does,  event  by  event.  According  to  the  biographer 
of  Carlo,  that  hero  was  never  at  a  loss,  but  encoun- 
tered every  movement  of  the  Genoese,  as  they  too 
began  to  get  uneasy,  and  to  perceive  that  the  circle 
round  them  was  being  drawn  closer  and  closer, 
with  a  more  able  movement  on  his  side,  and  met 
the  casualties  of  storm  and  accident  with  the  same 
never-failing  wit  and  wealth  of  resource.  Accord- 
ing to  Bishop  Jacopo,  the  entire  work  was  accom- 
plished by  his  ancestor,  though  other  writers  give  a 
certain  credit  to  the  other  commanders.  But  as 
soon  as  operations  of  a  really  important  and  practi- 
cal character  had  begun,  a  new  danger,  specially 


188  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

characteristic  of  the  age,  arose  on  the  Venetian 
side.  Bishop  Jacopo  Zeno  would  have  us  believe 
that  up  to  this  time  the  Venetians  had  hired  no 
mercenaries,  which  is  an  evident  mistake,  since  we 
have  already  heard,  even  in  this  very  conflict,  of 
forces  on  shore,  a  small  and  apparently  faithful 
contingent,  led  by  a  certain  Giacomo  Cavallo  of 
Verona.  But  perhaps  it  was  the  first  time  that  a 
great  armament  had  been  collected  under  the  ban- 
ner of  San  Marco.  With  that  daring  of  despair 
which  is  above  calculation  as  to  means  of  payment 
or  support,  the  Senate  had  got  together  a  force  of 
six  thousand  men — a  little  army,  which  was  to  be 
conducted  by  the  famous  English  condottiere,  Sir 
John  Hawkwood,  Giovanni  Aguto  according  to  the 
Italian  version  of  his  name.  These  soldiers  assem- 
bled at  Pelestrina,  an  island  in  the  mouth  of  the 
lagoons,  not  far  from  Chioggia.  But  when  the  band 
was  collected  and  ready  for  action,  the  Senate, 
dismayed,  found  the  leader  wanting.  Whether  the 
Genoese  had  any  hand  in  this  defalcation,  or 
whether  the  great  condottiere  was  kept  back  by 
other  engagements,  it  is  certain  that  at  the  last 
moment  he  failed  them ;  and  the  new  levies,  all  un- 
known and  strange  to  each  other,  fierce  fighting 
men  from  every  nationality,  stranded  on  this  island 
without  a  captain,  became  an  additional  care  in- 
stead of  an  aid  to  the  anxious  masters  of  Venice. 
Fierce  discussions  arose  among  them,  u?ia  pcricolosa 
cofitesa^  the  Italians  against  the  French  and  Ger- 
mans. In  this  emergency  the  Senate  turned  to 
Carlo  Zeno  as  their  only  hope.  His  youthful  expe- 
riences had  made  him  familiar  with  the  ways  of  these 
fierce  and  dangerous  auxiliaries,  and  he  was  consid- 
ered a  better  leader,  Sabellico  tells  us,  by  land  than 
by  sea.  To  him  accordingly  the  charge  of  pacify- 
ing the  mercenaries  was  given.  "Carlo,  receiving 
this  commission  to  pass  from  the  fleet  to  the  camp, 
and  from  war  at  sea  to  war  on  land,"  put  on  his 
armor,  and  quickly,  with  a  few  companions,  trans- 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  189 

ferred  himself  to  Pelestrina,  where  he  found  every- 
thing in  a  deplorable  condition, 

It  would  be  hard  to  tell  the  tumult  which  existed  in  the 
army,  in  which  there  was  nothing  but  attack  and  defense, 
with  cries  of  blood  and  vengeance,  so  that  the  uproar  of  men 
and  weapons  made  both  shore  and  sky  resound.  Carlo 
announced  his  arrival  by  the  sound  of  trumpets,  calling  upon 
the  soldiers  to  pause  and  listen  to  what  their  captain  had  to 
say.  His  voice,  as  soon  as  it  was  heard,  so  stilled  that 
commotion  that  the  storm  seemed  in  a  moment  to  turn  into  a 
calm ;  and  everyone,  of  whatever  grade,  rushed  to  him  expos- 
ing his  grievances,  and  demanding,  one  justice,  the  other  re- 
venge. There  wefe  many  among  them  who  had  served  under 
him  in  other  wars,  and  were  familiar  with  him.  ' 

To  these  excited  and  threatening  men  he  made  a 
judicious  speech,  appealing  at  once  to  their  gener- 
osity and  their  prudence;  pointing  out  the  embar- 
rassed circumstances  of  the  Senate,  and  the  ingrati- 
tude of  those  who  received  its  pay  yet  added  to  its 
troubles;  and  finally  succeeded  in  making  a  truce 
until  there  was  time  to  inquire  into  all  their  griev- 
ances. When  he  had  soothed  them  for  the  moment 
into  calm,  he  turned  to  the  Senate  for  the  one  sole 
means  which  his  experience  taught  him  could  keep 
these  unruly  bands  in  order.  He  had  been  told, 
when  his  commission  was  given  to  him,  that  '*it  ap- 
peared to  these  fathers  [the  Senate]  that  it  was  his 
duty  to  serve  the  republic  without  pay,"  which  was 
scarcely  an  encouraging  preliminary  for  a  demand 
on  their  finances.  Carlo,  however,  did  not  hesitate. 
He  wrote  to  the  Senate  informing  them  of  his  tem- 
porary success  with  the  soldiery,  and  suggesting 
that,  like  medicine  in  the  hands  of  a  doctor,  money 
should  be  used  to  heal  this  wound.  To  make  the 
proposal  less  disagreeable  to  the  poverty-stricken 
state,  he  offered  himself  to  undertake  the  half  of  the 
burden,  and  to  give  five  hundred  ducats  to  be  di- 
vided among  the  soldiers,  if  the  Senate  would  do 
the  same;  to  which  the  rulers  of  Venice— partly 
moved  by  the  necessities  of  the  case  and  partly  by 
his  arguments,  and  that  the  republic  might  not  seem 


190  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

less  liberal  than  a  simple  citizen — consented,  and 
peace  was  accordingly  established  among  the 
always  exacting  mercenaries.  Peace,  however, 
lasted  only  for  a  time ;  and  it  gives  us  a  lively  im- 
pression of  the  troubles  of  Mediaeval  powers  with 
these  artificial  armies,  to  trace  the  violent  scenes 
which  were  periodically  going  on  behind  all  other 
difficulties,  from  this  cause. 

When  Carlo  finally  got  his  army  in  motion,  and 
landed  them  on  the  edge  of  the  shore  at  Chioggia, 
he  found  occasion  almost  immediately  to  strike  a 
telling  blow.  Understanding  by  the  signals  made 
that  the  enemy  intended  to  make  a  sally  from  two 
points  at  once — from  Brondolo  on  one  side,  and 
from  the  city  of  Chioggia  on  the  other — he  at  once 
arranged  his  order  of  battle ;  placing  the  English, 
French,  and  Germans  on  the  side  toward  Chioggia 
while  the  Italians  faced  the  parting  coming  from 
Brondolo.  I  would  seem  from  this  that  Carlo's  con- 
fidence in  his  own  countr5''men  was  greater  than  in 
the  strangers' ;  for  the  sallying  band  from  Chioggia 
had  to  cross  a  bridge  over  a  canal,  and  therefore  lay 
under  a  disadvantage  of  which  he  was  prompt  to 
avail  himself. 

The  following  scene  has  an  interest,  independent 
of  the  quaint  story,  to  the  English  reader: 

When  Carlo  saw  this  [the  necessity  of  crossing  the  bridge] 
he  was  filled  with  great  hope  of  a  victory,  but  adding  a  num- 
ber of  the  middle  division  to  the  Italians,  he  himself  joined 
the  foreign  band,  and  having  had  experience  of  the  courage 
and  truth  of  the  English  captain,  whose  name  was  William, 
called  by  his  countrymen  //  Coquo  [Cook?  or  Cock?!,  he  called 
him  and  consulted  with  him  as  to  the  tactics  of  the  enemy, 
and  how  they  were  to  be  met,  and  finding  that  he  was  of  the 
same  opinion.  Carlo  called  the  soldiers  together  \a parlamentd\ 
and  addressed  them  thus. 

Carlo's  speeches,  it  must  be  allowed,  are  a  little 
long-winded.  Probably  the  bishop,  his  grandson, 
with  plenty  of  leisure  on  his  hands,  did  not  reflect 
that  it  must  have  been  a  dangerous  and  useless  ex- 
pedient to  keep  soldiers  a  patlamento^  however  ener- 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENlCfi.  l9l 

getic  the  words  were,  when  the  enemy  was  visibly 
beginning  to  get  over  the  bridge  in  face  of  them. 
We  feel,  when  these  orations  occur,  something  as 
spectators  occasionally  do  at  an  opera,  when  in  de- 
fiance of  common-sense  the  conspirators  pause  to 
roar  forth  a  martial  ditty  at  the  moment  when  any 
whisper  might  betray  them,  or  the  lovers  perform 
an  elaborate  duo  when  they  ought  to  be  running 
away  with  all  speed  from  the  villain  who  is  at  their 
heels.  Probably  the  hero's  speech  was  very  much 
shorter  than  his  descendant  makes  it — just  long 
enough,  let  us  suppose,  with  William  the  Cock  at 
his  elbow,  who  would  naturally  have  no  faith  in 
speechifying  at  such  a  moment,  to  let  the  Genoese 
get  completely  started  upon  that  bridge  which, 
though  assailargo,  allowed  the  passage  of  but  a  small 
number  abreast.  The  enemy  themselves  came  on 
gayly,  with  the  conviction  that,  taken  thus  between 
assailants  on  two  sides.  Carlo  would  lose  heart  and 
fly — and  had  passed  a  number  of  their  men  over  the 
bridge  before  the  Venetian  army  moved.  Then 
suddenly  Carlo  flung  his  forces  upon  them  with  a 
great  shouting  and  sound  of  trumpets.  "The  Eng- 
lish were  the  first  who  with  a  rush  and  with  loud 
cries  assailed  the  adversaries,  followed  by  the  others 
with  much  readiness  and  noise"  [romore\  The 
Genoese,  taken  by  surprise,  resisted  but  faintly 
from  the  first,  and  driven  back  upon  the  advancing 
files  already  on  the  bridge,  were  disastrously  and 
tragically  defeated — the  crowd,  surging  up  in  a 
mass,  those  who  were  coming  confused  and  arrested, 
those  who  were  flying  pushed  on  by  the  pursuers 
behind,  until  with  the  unwonted  weight  the  bridge 
broke,  and  the  whole  fighting,  flying  mass  was 
plunged  into  the  canal.  The  division  which  ap- 
proached from  Brondolo  was  not  more  fortunate. 
On  seeing  the  rout  of  their  companions  they  too 
broke  and  fled  con  velocissimi  corsi,  as  it  seems  to 
have  been  the  universal  habit  to  do  in  the  face  of 
any  great  danger — the  fact  that  discretion  was  the 


m  THE  MAKERS  OE  VENICE. 

better  part  of  valor  being  apparently  recognized  by 
all,  without  any  shame  in  putting  the  maxim  into 
practice.  This  victory  would  seem  to  have  been 
decisive.  The  tables  were  turned  with  a  rapidity 
which  is  strongly  in  contrast  with  the  lingering 
character  of  all  military  operations  in  this  age.  / 
Veneziani  di  ve7iti  diveniarono  vindori,  the  vanquished 
becoming  victors;  and  the  Genoese  lost  courage 
and  hope  all  at  once.  The  greater  part  of  them 
turned  their  eyes  toward  Padua  as  the  nearest  place 
of  salvation,  and  many  fled  by  the  marshes  and 
difficult  tortuous  water  passages,  in  which  they 
were  caught  by  the  pursuing  barks  of  the  Vene- 
tians and  those  Chioggiotes  whom  the  invaders  had 
driven  from  their  dwellings.  Of  thirteen  thousand 
combatants  who  were  engaged  in  the  zuffa  here 
described,  six  thousand  only,  we  are  told,  found 
safety  within  the  walls  of  Chioggia.  Bishop  Jacopo 
improves  the  occasion  with  professional  gravity,  yet 
national  pride.  **And  certainly,"  he  says,  ** there 
could  not  have  been  a  greater  example  of  the 
changeableness  of  human  affairs  than  that  those 
who  a  little  time  before  had  conquered  the  fleets, 
overcome  with  much  slaughter  all  who  opposed 
them,  taken  and  occupied  the  city,  despised  the  con- 
ditions of  peace  offered  to  them  and  made  all  their 
arrangements  for  putting  Venice  to  sack,  in  full 
confidence  of  issuing  forth  in  their  galleys  and  lead- 
ing back  their  armies  by  the  shore,  proud  of  the 
hosts  which  they  possessed  both  by  land  and  sea — 
now  broken  and  spent,  having  lost  all  power  and 
every  help,  fled  miserably,  wandering  by  dead 
waters  and  muddy  marshes  to  seek  out  ferries  and 
hiding  places,  nor  even  in  flight  finding  salvation. 
Such  are  the  inconstancy  and  changeableness  of 
human  things." 

We  cannot  but  sympathize  with  the  profound 
satisfaction  of  the  bishop  in  thus  pointing  his  not 
very  original  moral  by  an  event  so  entirely  gratify- 
ing to  his  national  feelings. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  198 

This  sudden  victory,  however,  as  it  proved,  was, 
if  decisive,  by  no  means  complete;  the  Genoese  who 
remained  still  obstinately  holding  their  own  within 
the  shelter  of  their  fortifications.  It  was  in  Febru- 
ary that  the  above  recorded  events  occurred,  and  it 
was  not  till  June  that  Chioggia  was  finally  taken;  a 
delay  to  be  attributed,  in  great  part  at  least,  to  the 
behavior  of  the  mercenaries.  No  sooner  was  the 
first  flush  of  delight  in  the  unaccustomed  triumph 
over,  than  the  troops  who  had  done  their  duty  so 
well  again  turned  upon  their  masters.  On  being 
ordered  by  sound  of  trumpet  to  put  themselves  in 
motion  and  establish  their  camp  under  the  walls  of 
Chioggia,  these  soldiers  of  fortune  bluntly  refused. 

The  captains  of  the  different  bands  sought  Carlo 
in  his  tent,  where  two  Proveditori,  sent  by  the 
Senate  to  congratulate  him,  and  to  urge  him  to  fol- 
low up  his  victory,  were  still  with  him.  Their  mes- 
sage was  a  very  practical  one.  They  rejoiced  that 
their  victory  had  been  so  helpful  to  the  republic, 
which  they  regarded  with  great  reverence  and 
affection,  ready  at  all  times  to  fight  her  battles;  but 
they  thought  that  in  the  general  joy  the  Senate  might 
very  becomingly  cheer  the  soldiers  by  a  present, 
qualche  donativo — something  like  double  pay,  for  ex- 
ample, for  the  month  in  which  the  victory  had  been 
won.  This  would  be  very  grateful  and  agreeable 
to  all  ranks^  the  captains  intimated,  and  whatever 
dangerous  work  there  might  be  to  do  afterward  the 
authorities  should  find  them  always  ready  to  obey 
orders  and  bear  themselves  valorously ;  but  if  not 
granted,  not  a  step  would  they  make  from  the  spot 
where  they  now  stood.  To  this  claim  there  was 
nothing  to  be  said  but  consent.  Once  more  Carlo 
had  to  use  all  his  powers,  con  buo?ie  parole  di  addol- 
cire  gli  animi  loro,  for  he  was  aware  "by  long  trial 
and  practice  of  war  that  soldiers  have  hard  heads 
and  obstinate  spirits."  He  therefore  addressed 
himself  once  more  to  the  republic,  urging  the  pru- 
dence of   yi^^^iiig    this  donativo  lest  worse   should 

18  Yeniea 


194  THE  MAKERS  OF  V£N1CE. 

come  of  it,  adding,  "that  he,  according  to  his  cus- 
tom, would  contribute  something  from  his  own 
means  to  lighten  the  burden  to  the  republic."  Such 
scenes,  ever  recurring,  show  how  precarious  was 
the  hold  of  any  authority  over  these  lawless  bands, 
and  what  power  to  exact  and  to  harass  was  in  their 
merciless  hands. 

Some  time  later,  when  the  Genoese  shut  up  in 
Chioggia  had  been  well-nigh  driven  to  desperation, 
a  rescuing  fleet  of  thirty  galleys,  laden  with  provi- 
sions and  men,  having  been  driven  off  and  every 
issue  closed  either  by  sea  or  land,  the  mutinous  free 
lances  appear  on  the  scene  again — this  time  in  the 
still  more  dangerous  guise  of  traitors.  "The  mer- 
cenaries were  not  at  all  desirous  that  the  Genoese 
should  give  themselves  up,  being  aware  that  their 
occupation  and  pay  would  be  stopped  by  the  con- 
clusion of  the  war. "  This  fear  led  them  to  open 
negotiations  with  the  besieged,  and  to  keep  up  their 
courage  with  false  hopes,  the  leaders  of  the  con- 
spirators promising  so  to  act  as  that  they  might  have 
at  least  better  conditions  to  surrender.  A  certain 
Robert  of  Recanati  was  at  the  head  of  these  un- 
faithful soldiers.  Carlo,  who  seems  to  have  kept  up 
a  secret  intelligence  department  such  as  was  highly 
necessary  with  such  dubious  servants,  discovered 
the  conspiracy,  and  that  there  was  an  intention 
among  them  of  taking  advantage  of  a  parade  ot  the 
troops  for  certain  mutinous  manifestations.  The 
wisdom  and  patience  of  the  leader,  anxious  in  all 
things  for  the  success  of  his  enterprise  and  the 
safety  of  the  republic,  and  dealing  with  the  utmost 
caution  with  the  treacherous  and  unreasoning  men 
over  whom  he  held  uneasy  sway,  come  out  conspicu- 
ously in  these  encounters.  Carlo  forbade  the  pa- 
rade, but  finding  that  mutineers  pretended  to  be 
unaware  of  its  postponement,  took  advantage  of  their 
appearance  armed  and  in  full  battle  array  to  re- 
monstrate and  reason  with  them.  While  the  men 
in  general,  overawed  by  their  general's  discovery  of 


tHE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  1% 

their  conspiracy  and  abashed  by  his  dignified  re- 
proof, kept  silence,  Robert,  ferocious  in  his  madness 
and  hot  blood,  sprang  to  the  front,  and  facing  Carlo 
adroitly  pressed  once  more  the  ever-repeated  exac- 
tions. "We  come  to  you  armed  and  in  order  ot 
battle,"  he  said,  "as  you  see,  to  demand  double  pay 
till  the  end  of  the  war.  We  are  determined  to  have 
it,  and  have  sworn,  by  whatsoever  means,  to  obtain 
it;  and,  if  it  is  denied  to  us,  we  warn  you  that,  with 
banners  flying,  and  armed  as  you  see  us,  we  will  go 
over  to  Chioggia  to  the  enemy."  The  much-tried 
general  was  greatly  disturbed  by  this  defiance,  but 
had  no  resource  save  to  yield. 

Believing  it  to  be  better  to  moderate  with  prudence  the  im- 
petuosity of  this  hot  blood,  without  showing  any  alarm,  with 
cheerful  countenance  and  soft  words,  Carlo  replied  that  noth- 
ing would  induce  him  to  believe  that  these  words  were  spoken 
in  earnest,  knowing  the  good  faith  and  generosity  of  the 
speaker's  mind,  and  believing  that  they  were  said  only  to  try 
him ;  that  he  had  good  reason  for  believing  this,  since  other- 
wise Robert  would  have  committed  a  great  villainy  and  intro- 
duced the  worst  example,  such  as  it  was  impossible  a  man  of 
his  high  reputation  could  intend  to  do.  Nor  could  the  Senate 
ever  believe  it  of  him,  having  always  expected  and  thought 
most  highly  of  him  and  rewarded  him  largely,  according  to 
the  faith  they  had  in  his  trustworthiness  and  experience  in 
the  art  of  war ;  for  nothing  rendered  soldiers  more  dear  to  the 
republic  than  that  good  faith  which  procured  them  from  the 
said  republic  and  other  princes  great  gifts  and  donations.  If 
soldiers  were  indifferent  to  the  failure  and  violation  of  this 
faith,  who  could  confide  to  their  care  the  safety  of  the  state, 
of  the  women  and  children?  Therefore,  he  adjured  them  to 
lay  down  their  arms,  and  he  would  watch  over  their  interests 
and  intercede  for  them  with  the  Senate.  While  Carlo  thus 
mildly  addressed  them  the  multitude  renewed  their  uproar, 
opposing  him  furiously  and  repeating  the  cry  of  double  pay, 
which  they  demanded  at  the  top  of  their  voices,  and  certain 
standard-bearers  posted  among  them  raised  their  banners, 
crying  out  that  those  who  were  of  that  opinion  should  follow 
them;  to  whom  Carlo  turned  smiling,  and  declared,  "That  he 
also  was  on  that  side,  and  promised,  if  they  were  not  con- 
tented, to  fight  under  their  ensigns." 

While  this  struggle  was  still  going  on,  the  gen- 
eral, with  a  smile  on  his  lips,  but  speechless  anx- 


196  tHE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

iety  in  his  heart,  facing  the  excited  crowd  which 
any  touch  might  precipitate  into  open  mutiny 
beyond  his  control,  a  sudden  diversion  occurred 
which  gave  an  unhoped-for  termination  to  the 
scene.  The  manner  in  which  Carlo  seized  the 
occasion,  his  boldness,  promptitude,  and  rapid 
comprehension  of  an  occurrence  which  might  under 
less  skilltvil  guidance  have  turned  the  balance  in 
the  opposite  direction,  show  how  well  he  deserved 
his  reputation.  The  Genoese,  who  had  been 
warned  by  secret  emissaries  that  on  this  day  the 
mercenaries  intended  some  effort  in  their  favor, 
and  probably  perceiving  from  their  battlements 
that  something  unusual  was  going  on  in  the  camp, 
seized  the  moment  to  make  a  desperate  attempt  at 
escape.  They  had  prepared  about  eighty  small 
vessels,  such  as  were  used  to  navigate  the  passages 
among  the  marshes,  and  filled  them  with  every- 
thing of  value  they  possessed  in  preparation  for  such 
an  occasion.  The  propitious  moment,  seeming 
now  to  present  itself,  they  embarked  hastily,  and 
pushing  out  into  the  surrounding  waters,  seeking 
the  narrowest  and  least-known  passages,  stole  forth 
from  the  beleaguered  city.  "But  vain,"  cries  the 
pious  bishop,  *' are  the  designs  of  miserable  man!" 

The  boatmen  whose  attention  was  fixed  upon  every  move- 
ment within  the  walls  had  already  divined  what  was  going  on 
and  with  delight  perceivin  g  them  issue  forth,  immediately 
gave  chase  in  their  light  barks,  giving  warning  of  the  escape 
of  the  enemy  with  shouting  and  a  great  uproar.  And  already 
the  cry  rose  all  around,  and  the  struggle  between  the  fugi- 
tives and  their  pursuers  had  begun,  when  Carlo,  fired  by  the 
noise  and  clash  of  arms,  suddenly  turned  upon  the  soldiers, 
and  with  stern  face  and  terrible  eyes  addressed  them  in  an- 
other tone.  "What  madness  is  this,"  he  cried,  "cowards,  that 
keeps  you  standing  still  while  the  enemy  pushes  forth  before 
your  eyes  laden  with  gold  and  silver  and  precious  things, 
while  you  stand  and  look  on,  chattering  like  children?"  Upon 
which  he  ordered  the  banners  to  move  on,  and  with  a  great 
voice,  so  that  the  whole  army  could  hear  him,  commanding 
all  who  kept  faith  with  the  republic  to  follow  him  against  the 
enemy.  Without  loss  of  time,  with  his  flag  carried  before 
him,  he  among  the  first  rushed  to  the    marshes,  plunging 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  197 

breast-high  in  the  water  and  mud,  and  his  voice  and  the 
impetuosity  with  which  he  called  them  to  their  senses  and 
rushed  forth  in  their  front  had  so  great  a  power  that  the  whole 
army,  forgetting  their  complaint,  followed  their  captain, 
flinging  themselves  upon  the  enemy,  and  thus,  with  little 
trouble,  almost  all  fell  into  Carlo's  hands.  The  booty  thus 
obtained  was  so  great  that  never  had  there  been  greater,  nor 
was  anything  left  that  could  increase  the  victory  and  the  fury 
until  night  fell  upon  the  work.  In  this  way  and  by  this 
means  was  an  end  made  of  the  controversy  of  that  day. 

This  accidental  settlement,  however,  was  only 
for  the  moment.  Robert  of  Recanati  was  not  to 
be  so  easily  driven  from  his  purpose.  The  rem- 
nant of  the  imprisoned  and  discouraged  Genoese, 
greatly  diminished  by  these  successive  defeats  and 
now  at  the  last  point  of  starvation,  were  about  to 
send  messengers  to  the  doge  with  their  submission, 
when  he  and  the  other  conspirators,  seducing  the 
soldiers  in  increasing  numbers  to  their  side  by 
prophecies  of  the  immediate  disbandment  which 
was  to  be  anticipated  if  the  war  were  thus  brought 
to  an  end,  and  promises  of  continued  service  in  the 
other  case — again  hurried  their  movements  to  the 
brink  of  an  outbreak.  Carlo,  who  was  advised  of 
all  that  happened  by  his  spies,  at  last  in  alarm  in- 
formed the  Senate  of  his  fears,  who  sent  a  deputation 
of  two  of  their  number  to  address  the  captain  and 
mitigate  gli  animi  dei  soldati  con  qualche  donaiivo, 
the  one  motive  which  had  weight  with  them.  This 
process  seemed  again  so  far  successful  that  the 
captains  in  general  accepted  the  mollifying  gift  and 
undertook  to  secure  the  fidelity  of  their  men — all 
but  Robert,  who,  starting  to  his  feet  in  the  midst 
of  the  assembly,  protested  that  nothing  would  make 
him  consent  to  the  arrangement,  and  rushed  fortn 
into  the  camp  to  rouse  to  open  rebellion  the  men 
who  were  disposed  to  follow  him.  Carlo,  perceiv- 
ing the  imminent  danger,  rushed  forth  after  him 
and  had  him  seized,  and  was  about  to  apply  the 
rapid  remedy  of  a  military  execution,  when  the 
deputation  from  Venice — popular  orators  perhaps, 


198  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

trembling  for  their  reputation  as  peacemakers  and 
friends  of  the  soldiers — threw  themselves  before 
the  angry  general  and  implored  mercy  for  the 
rebel.  Against  his  better  judgment  Carlo  yielded 
to  their  prayers.  But  it  was  very  soon  proved  how 
foolish  this  clemency  was,  since  the  same  after- 
noon, the  orators  being  still  in  the  tents,  the  sound 
of  cries,  ''Armef  Arme/  "  and  ''Saccof  resounded 
through  the  camp,  and  it  soon  became  apparent 
that  a  rush  was  about  to  be  made  upon  Chioggia 
without  discipline  or  prearrangement,  a  number  of 
the  troops  following  Robert  and  his  fellow  conspir- 
ators in  hope  of  a  sack  and  plunder,  and  in  spite  of 
all  the  general  could  say.  When  Carlo  found  it 
impossible  to  stop  this  wild  assault,  he  sent  a 
trusted  retainer  of  his  own  to  mix  in  the  crowd  and 
bring  a  report  of  all  that  wen^  on.  This  trusty  emis- 
sary, keeping  close  to  Robert,  was  a  witness  of  the 
meeting  held  by  the  conspirators  with  the  Genoese 
leaders  under  cover  of  this  raid,  and  heard  it 
planned  between  them  how  on  that  very  night, 
after  the  Venetian  mercenaries  had  been  driven 
back,  a  sudden  attack  should  be  made  by  the  Gen- 
oese on  the  camp  with  the  assistance  of  the  traitors 
with  it,  so  that  the  rout  and  destruction  of  the 
besiegers  should  be  certain  and  the  way  of  exit 
from  Chioggia  be  thrown  open.  The  soldiers 
streamed  back  defeated  into  the  camp  when  the 
object  of  the  raid  had  been  thus  accomplished,  the 
poor  dupes  of  common  men,  spoiled  of  their  arms 
and  even  clothes  by  the  desperate  garrison,  while 
Robert  and  his  friends  returned  "almost  naked"  to 
carry  out  the  deception.  Carlo  met  them  as  they 
came  back  in  broken  parties  with  every  appearance 
of  rout,  and  in  a  few  strong  words  upbraided  them 
with  their  folly  and  rashness;  but  when  he  heard 
the  story  of  his  spy,  the  gravity  of  the  position  be- 
came fully  apparent.  Night  was  already  falling, 
and  the  moment  approaching  when  the  camp,  un- 
prepared, might  have  to  sustain  the  last  despairing 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  199 

assault  of  the  besieged,  for  whom  life  and  freedom 
hung  upon  the  possibility  of  success,  combined  with 
the  still  more  alarming  danger  of  treachery  within. 
The  soldiers  were  at  supper  and  occupied,  those 
who  had  come  back  from  Chioggia  probably  lament- 
ing their  losses,  and  consoling  themselves  with 
hopes  of  the  sack  of  the  town,  which  Robert  had 
used  as  one  of  his  lures — when  the  captains  of  the 
mounted  troops  (which  is  what  we  imagine  to  be 
the  meaning  of  the  expression  "/  capi  degli  uommi 
d'arme — de  fante  7io,  perche  sapeva  ehe  iutti  erano 
nella  congiura'')^  leaving  their  own  meal,  stole 
toward  the  general's  tent  in  the  quiet  of  the  brief 
tvvilight.  Carlo  made  them  a  vigorous  speech, 
more  brief  than  his  ordinary  addresses,  first  thank- 
ing and  congratulating  them  on  their  former 
exploits  and  their  fidelity  to  the  republic;  then  lay- 
ing before  them  the  discovery  he  had  made,  the 
risk  that  all  they  had  done  might  be  lost  through 
the  treachery  of  one  among  them,  and  the  desper- 
ate necessity  of  the  case.  The  captains,  startled  by 
the  sudden  summons^  and  by  the  incidents  of  the 
day,  sat  round  him,  with  their  eyes  fixed  upon  their 
leader,  hearing  with  consternation  his  extraordinary 
statement,  and  for  the  moment  bewildered  by  the 
revelation  of  treachery  and  by  the  suddenness  of  the 
peril.  This  moment,  upon  which  hung  the  safety 
of  the  Venetian  name  and  the  decisive  issue  of  the 
long  struggle,  must  have  been  one  of  overwhelming 
anxiety  for  the  sole  Venetian  among  them,  the 
only  man  to  whom  it  was  a  question  of  life  or 
death;  the  patriot  commander  unassured  of  what 
reply  these  dangerous  subordinates  might  make. 
But  he  was  not  kept  long  in  suspense. 

There  was  a  certain  captain  among  the  others  called  Wil- 
liam, of  Britannic  origin.  He,  who  was  a  man  of  great  valor 
and  the  greatest  fidelity,  rose  to  his  feet,  and  looking  round 
upon  them  all,  spoke  thus:  "Your  words,  oh,  general  [impe- 
ratore],  have  first  rejoiced  and  then  grieved  us.  It  rejoiced 
us  to  hear  that  you  have  so  much  faith  in  us,  and  in  our  love 
aod  devotion  to  your  republic,  than  which  we  could  desire  u.q 


200  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

better— and  for  this  we  thank  you  with  all  our  hearts.  We 
have  known  you  always  not  only  as  our  general  and  leader 
\imperatore  e  duce\,  but  as  our  father,  and  it  grieves  us  that 
there  should  be  among  us  men  so  villainous  as  those  of  whom 
you  tell  us.  It  appalls  my  soul  to  hear  what  you  say ;  and, 
for  my  own  part,  there  is  nothing  I  am  not  ready  to  do  in 
view  of  the  hardihood  of  the  offender,  of  our  peril,  and  the 
discipline  of  our  army,  matters  which  cannot  be  treated  with- 
out shame  of  the  military  art.  But  you  are  he  who  have 
always  overcome  by  your  care  and  vigilance,  and,  with  that 
genius  which  almost  passes  mortal,  have  always  secured  the 
common  safety,  defended  us  from  ill  fortune  and  from  our 
enemies,  and  trusted  in  our  good  faith.  We  can  never  cease 
to  thank  you  for  these  things,  and  God  grant  that  the  time 
may  come  when  we  shall  do  more  than  thank  you.  In  the 
meantime  we  are  yours,  we  are  in  your  power;  we  were 
always  yours,  and  now  more  than  ever ;  make  of  us  what 
pleases  you.  And  now  tell  us  the  names  of  those  who  have 
offended  you,  let  us  know  who  are  these  scoundrels  and 
villains,  and  you  shall  see  that  the  faith  you  have  had  in  us  is 
well  founded." 

It  is  satisfactory  to  find  our  unknown  countryman 
taking  this  manly  part.  Robert  was  sent  for,  the 
entire  assembly  echoing  the  Englishman's  words; 
and  when  the  traitor's  explanations  had  been  sum- 
marily stopped  by  a  gag,  Carlo  and  his  faithful 
captains  came  out  of  the  general's  quarters  with  a 
shout  for  the  republic,  calling  their  faithful  followers 
round  them,  and  a  short  but  sharp  encounter  fol- 
lowed, in  which  the  conspirators  were  entirely  sub- 
dued. The  Genoese  meanwhile,  watching  from 
their  walls  for  the  concerted  signal,  and  perplexed 
by  the  sounds  of  battle,  soon  learned  by  flying 
messengers  that  the  plot  was  discovered  and  their 
allies  destroyed.  An  unconditional  surrender  fol- 
lowed, and  the  invaders,  who  had  for  ten  months 
been  masters  of  Chioggia,  and  for  half  that  time  at 
least  had  held  Venice  in  terror  and  had  her  in  their 
power,  driving  the  mistress  of  the  seas  to  the  most 
abject  despair,  were  now  hurried  off  ignominously 
in  every  available  barge  and  fisherman's  cobble, 
rude  precursors  of  the  gondola,  to  prison  in  Venice 
— five  thousand  of  them,  Bishop  Jacopo  says.     He 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  201 

adds  that  after  their  long-  starvation  they  ate  raven- 
ously, and  that  the  greater  part  of  them  died  in 
consequence,  a  statement  to  be  received  with 
much  reserve.  Sabellico  tells  us  that  four  thou- 
sand men  altogether  fell  into  the  hands  of  the 
republic,  three  thousand  of  whom  were  Genoese. 
The  soldiers  among  them,  mercenaries  no  doubt 
and  chiefly  foreigners,  had  their  arms  taken  from 
them  and  were  allowed  to  go  free.  The  plunder 
was  taken  to  the  church  of  St.  Maria,  and  there 
sold  by  auction,  the  Venetians  fixing  the  price, 
which  was  handed  over  to  the  soldiers,  the  chron- 
iclers say.  One  wonders  if  the  bargains  to  be  had 
under  these  circumstances  satisfied  the  citizens  to 
whom  this  siege  had  cost  so  much. 

It  would  be  interesting,  though  sad,  to  follow 
the  fate  of  these  prisoners,  shut  up  in  dungeons 
which  it  is  not  at  all  likely  were  much  better  than 
the  pozzi  at  present  exhibited  to  shrinking  visitors, 
though  these  prisons  did  not  then  exist.  They  had 
no  Marco  Polo,  no  chosen  scribe  among  them  to 
make  their  misery  memorable.  The  war  lasted 
another  year,  during  which  these  were  moments  in 
which  their  lives  were  in  extreme  peril.  At  one 
time  a  rumor  rose  of  cruelties  practiced  by  the 
Genoese  upon  the  Venetian  prisoners,  many  of 
whom  were  reported  to  have  died  of  hunger  and 
their  bodies  to  have  been  thrown  into  the  sea — 
news  which  raised  a  great  uproar  in  Venice,  the 
people  breaking  into  the  prisons  and  being  with 
difficulty  prevented  from  a  general  massacre  of  the 
prisoners,  who  were  punished  for  the  supposed  sin 
of  their  compatriots  by  losing  all  comforts  and  con- 
veniences and  being  reduced  to  bread  and  water, 
the  women  who  had  cooked  their  food  "for  pity" 
being  ordered  away.  Afterward,  however,  the 
city,  according  to  ancient  custom,  had  compassion, 
and  restored  to  them  everything  of  which  they  had 
been  deprived.  On  the  conclusion  of  the  war,  when 
peace  was  made  and  the  prisoners  exchanged,  there 


M  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

is  a  little  record  which  shows,  however  far  behind 
us  were  these  mediaeval  ages,  that  charity  to  our 
enemies  is  not,  as  some  people  think,  an  invention 
of  the  nineteenth  century. 

The  Venetian  ladies  [matrone]  collected  among  themselves 
money  enough  to  supply  the  Genoese,  who  were  almost 
naked,  with  coats,  shirts,  shoes,  and  stockings,  and  other 
things  necessary  for  their  personal  use  before  their  departure, 
that  they  might  not  have  any  need  to  beg  by  the  way,  and 
also  furnished  them  with  provisions  for  their  journey.  And 
those  who  were  thus  sent  back  to  their  home  were  of  the  num- 
ber of  fifteen  hundred. 

Half  of  the  prisoners,  it  would  thus  appear,  per- 
ished within  the  year. 

The  war  with  Genoa  did  not  end  with  the  resto- 
ration of  Chioggia,  but  it  was  carried  on  hencefor- 
ward in  distant  waters,  and  among  the  Dalmatian 
towns  and  islands.  Carlo  Zeno  himself  w^as  sent 
to  take  at  all  hazards  a  certain  Castle  of  Marano, 
against  his  own  will  and  judgment,  and  failed,  as 
he  had  previously  assured  his  masters  he  must  fail ; 
and  there  were  many  troubles  on  the  side  of 
Treviso,  which  Venice  presented  to  Duke  Leopold 
of  Austria,  in  order  to  preserve  it  from  the  Car- 
rarese,  now  the  obstinate  enemies  of  the  republic. 
Here  the  difficulties  with  the  condottieri  reappeared 
again,  but  in  a  less  serious  way.  The  soldiers  whose 
pay  was  in  arrears,  and  who,  hearing  of  the  pro- 
posed transfer,  felt  themselves  in  danger  of  falling 
between  two  stools,  and  getting  pay  from  neither 
side,  confided  their  cause  to  a  certain  Borato  Mala- 
spina,  who  presented  himself  before  the  Venetian 
magistrates  of  Treviso,  and  set  his  conditions  before 
them.  "We  have  decided,"  he  said,  "in  con- 
sideration of  the  dignity  of  the  Venetian  name  and 
the  good  faith  of  the  soldiers,  to  take  our  own 
affairs  in  hand,  and  in  all  love  and  friendship  to  ask 
for  our  pay.  We  have  decided  to  remain  each  man 
at  his  post  until  one  of  you  goes  to  Venice  for  the 
money.      During  this  interval  everything  shall  be 


tHE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  M 

faithfully  defended  and  guarded  by  us.  But  we 
will  no  longer  delay,  nor  can  we  permit  our  busi- 
ness with  the  Senate  to  be  conducted  by  letter. 
Your  presence  is  necessary  in  order  that  everything 
may  go  well.  And  we  will  await  the  return  of  him 
who  shall  be  sent  to  Venice,  with  a  proper  regard 
to  the  time  necessary  for  his  coming  and  going. 
There  is  no  need  for  further  consultation  in  the  case, 
for  what  we  ask  is  quite  reasonable."  The  as- 
tounded magistrates  stared  at  this  bold  demand- 
but  found  nothing  better  for  it  than  to  obey. 

And  at  last  the  war  was  over,  and  peace,  in  which 
to  heal  her  wounds,  and  restore  her  half-ruined 
trade,  and  put  order  in  her  personal  affairs,  carae  to 
\renice.  According  to  the  promise  made  in  her 
darkest  hour,  thirty  families  from  among  those  who 
had  served  the  republic  best  were  added  to  the 
number  of  the  nobles.  "Before  they  went  to  the 
Palazzo  they  heard  the  divine  Mass,  then,  present- 
ing themselves  before  the  prince  and  Senate,  sv/ore 
to  the  republic  their  faith  and  silence. "  The  last  is 
a  remarkable  addition  to  the  oath  of  allegiance,  and 
curiously  characteristic  of  Venice.  "Giacomo  Cav- 
allo,  Veronese,"  adds  Sabellico,  "for  his  strenuous 
and  faithful  service  done  during  this  war,  obtained 
the  same  dignity."  It  was  the  highest  which  the 
republic  could  bestow. 

The  subsequent  history  of  Carlo  Zeno  we  have 
entirely  upon  the  word  of  his  descendant  and 
biographer,  who,  like  most  biographers  of  that  age, 
is  chiefly  intent  upon  putting  every  remarkable  act 
accomplished  in  his  time  to  the  credit  of  his  hero. 
At  the  same  time,  we  have  every  reason  to  trust 
Bishop  Jacopo,  whose  work  is  described  by  Foscar- 
ini  as  the  most  faithful  record  existing  of  the  war 
of  Chioggia;  the  author,  as  that  careful  critic  adds, 
"being  a  person  of  judofment  and  enlightenment, 
and  living  at  a  period  not  far  removed  from  these 
acts."  He  was  indeed  born  before  the  death  of  his 
grandfather,  and  must  have  had  full  command  of 


204  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

all  family  memorials  as  well  as  the  evidence  of 
many  living  persons,  for  the  facts  he  records.  We 
may  accordingly  take  his  book,  with  perhaps  a  little 
allowance  for  natural  partiality,  as  a  trustworthy 
record  of  the  many  wonderful  vicissitudes  of  Carlo's 
life.  And  whether  the  bold  pirate-like  countenance 
which  serves  as  frontispiece  to  Quirini's  translation 
of  the  bishop's  book  be  taken  from  any  authentic 
portrait  (which  is  little  likely),  there  can  be  at  least 
no  doubt  of  the  family  tradition,  which  describes 
the  great  soldier-seaman  thus : 

'*He  was  square-shouldered, broad-chested,  solidly 
and  strongly  made,  with  large  and  speaking  eyes, 
and  a  manly,  great,  and  full  countenance;  his 
stature  neither  tall  nor  short,  but  of  a  middle  size. 
Nothing  was  wanting  in  his  appearance  which 
strength,  health,  decorum,  and  gravity  demanded." 
With  the  exception  perhaps  of  the  gravity  and 
decorum,  which  are  qualities  naturally  attributed 
by  a  clergyman  to  his  grandfather,  the  description 
is  true  to  all  our  ideas  of  a  naval  hero.  At  the  time 
of  the  struggle  before  Chioggia,  which  he  conducted 
at  once  so  gallantly  and  so  warily,  he  was  forty-five, 
in  the  prime  of  his  strength;  and  that  solid  and 
steadfast  form  which  nothing  could  shake,  those 
eyes  which  met  undaunted  the  glare  of  so  many 
mutinous  troopers,  always  full  of  the  keenest 
observation,  letting  nothing  escape  them,  stand  out 
as  clearly  among  the  crowd  as  if,  forestalling  a  cen- 
tury, Gentile  Bellini  had  painted  him,  strongly 
planted  upon  those  sturdy  limbs  to  which  the  rock 
of  the  high  seas  had  given  a  sailor's  double  security 
of  balance,  confronting  the  heavy,  furious  Germans, 
the  excited  Frenchmen,  the  revengeful  Italians  of 
other  states,  scarcely  less  alien  to  his  own  than  the 
foresiierivfiih.  their  strange  tongues — whose  sole  bond 
of  allegiance  to  their  momentary  masters  was  the 
double  pay,  or  occasional  do7iativo^  which  they 
exacted  as  the  price  of  their  wavering  faith.  A 
trvier  type  of  the  ideal  Venetian — strong,  subtle, 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  205 

ready-witted,  prompt  in  action  and  prepared  for 
everything;  the  patriot,  pirate,  admiral,  merchant, 
general,  which  ever  character  was  most  needed  at 
the  moment — could  not  be. 

Carlo  did  not  return  to  his  merchandise  after  this 
absorbing  struggle.  He  was  made  captain-general 
of  the  forces  on  the  death,  not  long  after,  of  Vit- 
tore  Pisani ;  and  when  the  old  Doge  Contarini  died 
he  was  for  a  time  the  favorite  candidate  for  that 
honor.  The  electors  indeed  had  all  but  decided  in 
his  favor,  the  bishop  tells  us,  when  a  certain  Zac- 
caria  Contarini,  *'a  man  ot  great  authority  and  full 
of  eloquence  and  the  art  of  speech,"  addressed  an 
oration  to  them  on  the  subject.  His  argument  was 
a  curious  one.  Against  Carlo  Zeno,  he  allowed,  not 
a  word  could  be  said ;  there  was  no  better  man, 
none  more  worthy,  nor  of  higher  virtue  in  all  Ven- 
ice ;  none  who  had  served  the  republic  better,  or  to 
whom  her  citizens  were  more  deeply  indebted;  but 
these  were  the  very  reasons  why  he  should  not  be 
made  doge — for  should  another  war  arise  with 
Genoa,  who  could  lead  the  soldiers  ot  Venice  against 
her  rival  but  he  who  was  the  scourge  of  the  Ge- 
noese ;  a  man  with  whom  no  other  could  compare  for 
knowledge  of  things  naval  and  military;  for  pru- 
dence, judgment,  fidelity  to  the  country,  greatness, 
and  good  fortune?  "If  you  should  bind  such  a  man 
to  the  prince's  office,  most  noble  fathers,  to  stay  at 
home,  to  live  in  quiet,  to  be  immersed  in  the  affairs 
of  the  city,  tell  me  what  other  have  you?"  Thus 
Carlo's  fame  was  used  against  him,  "whether  with 
a  good  intention  for  the  benefit  of  the  republic,  or 
from  envy  of  Carlo,"  Bishop  Jacopo  does  not  under- 
take to  say.  Neither  does  he  tell  us  whether  his 
illustrious  ancestor  was  disappointed  by  the  issue. 
But  when  peace  was  proclaimed,  and  there  was  no 
more  work  for  him  nor  further  promotion  possible, 
Carlo  left  Venice  and  went  forth  upon  the  world 
"to  see  and  salute  various  princes  throughout  Italy 
with  whom  he  was  united  by  no  common  friend- 


206  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

ship."  A  man  so  celebrated  was  received  with 
open  arms  everywhere,  especially  where  fighting 
was  going  on,  and  made  himself  useful  to  his 
princely  friends  in  various  emergencies  He  served 
Galeazzo  Visconti  of  Milan  in  this  way,  and  was 
governor  of  that  city  for  several  years  and  also  of 
the  province  of  Piedmont,  which  was  under  Vis- 
conti's  sway,  and  absorbed  in  such  occupations  was 
absent  from  Venice  for  ten  years,  always  with 
increasing  honor  and  reputation.  While  thus  occu- 
pied, what  seemed  a  very  trifling  incident  occurred 
in  his  career.  At  Asti  he  encountered  Francesco 
da  Carrara,  the  son  of  the  lord  of  Padua,  sometime 
the  enemy  but  at  that  moment  at  peace  with  Ven- 
ice, an  exile  and  in  great  straits  and  trouble;  and 
finding  him  sad,  anxious,  and  unhappy,  and  in  want 
of  every  comfort,  per  no?i  mancare  aW  ufficio  di  gefittl- 
uomo,  not  to  fail  in  the  duty  of  a  gentleman,  did  his 
best  to  encourage  and  cheer  the  exile,  and  lent  him 
four  hundred  ducats  for  his  immediate  wants. 
Some  years  after,  when  Francesco  had  been  restored 
to  Padua,  and  regained  his  place,  Carlo  passed 
through  that  city  on  his  way  to  Venice,  and  was 
repaid  the  money  he  had  lent.  The  incident  was  a 
very  simple  one,  but  not  without  disastrous  conse- 
quences. 

On  his  return  to  Venice  Carlo  was  again  employed 
successfully  against  the  Genoese  under  a  French 
general,  that  proud  city  having  fallen  under  the 
sway  of  France,  and  covered  the  Venetian  name 
once  more  with  glory.  This,  to  all  appearance,  was 
his  last  independent  action  as  the  commander  of  the 
forces  of  Venice.  He  was  growing  old,  and  civil 
dignities,  though  never  the  highest,  began  to  be 
awarded  to  him.  When  the  war  with  the  house  of 
Carrara  broke  out.  Carlo  Malatesta  of  Rimini,  one 
of  the  great  condottieri  of  the  time,  held  the  chief 
command,  and  Carlo  Zeno  accompanied  the  army 
only  in  the  capacity  of  Proveditore.  A  strong  mil- 
itary force  was  by  this  time  in  the  pay  of  the  repub- 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  207 

lie ;  but  again,  as  ever,  it  was  as  hard  a  task  to  keep 
them  from  fighting  among  themselves  as  to 
overcome  the  enemy.  Malatesta  threw  up  his  com- 
mission in  the  midst  of  the  campaign,  and  Paolo  Sav- 
ello  was  appointed  in  his  stead ;  but  either  this  did 
not  please  the  mercenaries,  or  personal  feuds  among 
them  breaking  out  suddenly  on  the  occasion  of  the 
change,  the  camp  was  immediately  in  an  uproar, 
and  the  different  factions  began  to  cut  each  other 
in  pieces.  Carlo  forced  his  way  into  the  middle  of 
the  fight,  and  when  he  had  succeeded  in  calming  it 
for  the  moment,  called  before  him  the  chiefs  of  the 
factions,  and  after  his  usual  custom  addressed  them. 
His  speech  is  no  longer  that  of  a  general  at  the  head 
of  an  army,  but  of  an  old  man,  much  experienced 
and  full  of  serious  dignity,  before  the  restless  and 
ferocious  soldiers.  "I  thought,"  he  said,  *'that  the 
uses  and  customs  of  war  would  have  moderated  your 
minds  and  delivered  you  from  passion;  for  there  is 
true  nobleness  where  prudence  is  conjoined  with 
courage,  and  nothing  so  becomes  a  generous  man  as 
a  tranquil  modesty  and  gravity  in  military  opera- 
tions. The  shedding  of  blood  becomes  a  sordid 
business  if  not  conducted  and  accompanied  by  a 
decorous  dignity."  He  then  points  out  to  them 
that  thefr  work  is  nearly  accomplished ;  all  the  diffi- 
culties have  been  overcome;  Padua  is  closely 
besieged  and  famishing,  the  end  is  at  hand: 

We  have  come,  oh,  captains,  to  the  conclusion  of  the  war ;  a 
fortunate  end  is  near  to  your  toils  and  watches,  and  nothing 
remains  but  the  prize  and  the  victory.  What  then  would  you 
have,  oh,  signori?  What  do  you  desire?  What  fury  moves 
you?  Why  are  these  arms,  which  should  subdue  the  enemy, 
turned  against  each  other?  Will  you  make  your  own  labors, 
your  vigils,  your  great  efforts,  and  all  the  difficulties  you  have 
overcome  but  useless  pains,  and  the  hope  of  success  in  so  hard 
a  fight  as  vain  as  they?  And  can  you  endure,  oh,  strong 
men,  to  see  the  work  of  so  many  months  destroyed  in  one 
hour?  I  pray  you  then,  generous  captains,  if  any  sense  of 
lotty  mind,  of  valor,  and  of  fidelity  is  in  you,  come,  lay  down 
your  arms,  calm  your  rage,  conciliate  and  pacify  the  offended. 


208  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

make  an  end  of  these  feuds  and  conflicts,  return  to  your  former 
brotherliness,  and  let  us  condone  those  injuries  done  to  the 
republic  and  to  me. 

The  old  warrior  was  seventy  when  he  made  this 
speech.  Yet  it  was  he,  if  his  biographer  reports 
truly,  who  had  explored  in  his  own  person  the 
marshes  about  Padua,  sometimes  wading,  some- 
times swimming,  pushing  his  way  through  bog  and 
mud,  to  discover  a  way  by  which  the  troops  could 
pass.  He  had  a  right  to  plead  that  all  the  labors 
thus  gone  through  should  not  be  in  vain. 

When  Padua  was  taken  Carlo  was  made  governor 
of  the  city.  The  unfortunate  Carrarese  were  taken 
to  Venice  and  imprisoned  in  San  Giorgio,  where 
was  enacted  one  of  the  darkest  scenes  in  Venetian 
history.  But  with  this  Zeno  had  nothing  to  do. 
He  left  his  post  soon  after,  a  colleague  having  been 
appointed,  in  the  belief  that  nothing  called  for  his 
presence,  and  returned  to  Venice.  The  colleague, 
to  whom  Bishop  Jacopo  gives  no  name,  among  his 
other  labors,  took  upon  him  to  examine  the  expend- 
iture of  the  city  for  many  years  back,  and  there 
found  a  certain  strange  entry:  "To  Carlo  Zeno, 
paid  four  hundred  ducats."  No  doubt  it  was  one 
of  the  highest  exercises  of  Christian  charity  on  the 
part  of  the  bishop  to  keep  back  this  busybody's 
name.  With  all  haste  the  register  was  sent  to  Ven- 
ice to  be  placed  before  the  terrible  Ten.  "The 
Ten,"  says  Jacopo,  "held  in  the  city  of  Venice  the 
supreme  magistracy,  with  power  to  punish  whom- 
soever they  pleased;  and  from  their  sentence  there 
is  never  any  appeal  permitted  for  any  reason  what- 
ever, and  all  that  they  determine  is  final,  nor  can  it 
be  known  of  anyone  whether  what  they  do  is  accord- 
ing to  reason  or  not."  Called  before  this  tribunal 
Carlo  gave  the  simple  explanation  with  which  the 
reader  has  been  already  furnished.  But  before  that' 
secret  tribunal,  his  honor,  his  stainless  word,  his 
labors  for  his  country,  availed  him  nothing.  Per-^ 
haps  the  men  whose  hands  had  strangled  Francesco 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  209 

da  Carrara  and  his  son  in  their  prison,  still  thrilling 
with  the  horror  of  that  deed,  felt  a  secret  pleasure 
in  branding  the  hero  of  Chioggia,  the  deliverer  of 
Venice,  her  constant  defender  and  guard,  as  a  traitor 
and  miserable  stipendiary  in  foreign  pay.  The  pen- 
alty for  this  crime  was  the  loss  of  all  public  place 
and  rank  as  senator  or  magistrate,  and  two  years  of 
prison.  And  to  this  Carlo  Zeno  was  sentenced  as  a 
fitting  end  to  his  long  and  splendid  career. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  tell,  though  our  bishop  does 
it  with  fine  suppressed  indignation,  how  the  people, 
thunderstruck  by  such  an  outrage,  both  in  Venice 
itself  and  in  the  other  surrounding  cities,  would 
have  risen  against  it: 

But  Carlo  [he  adds],  with  marvelous  moderation  of  mind 
and  with  a  strong  and  constant  soul,  supported  the  stroke  ot 
envious  fortune  without  uttering  a  complaint  or  showing  a 
sign  of  anxiety;  saying  solely  that  he  knew  the  course  of 
human  things  to  be  unstable,  and  that  this  which  had  happened 
to  him  was  nothing  new  or  unknown,  since  he  had  long  been 
acquainted  with  the  common  fate  ot  men,  and  how  vain  was 
their  wisdom,  or  how  little  value  their  honors  and  dignities, 
of  which  he  now  gave  to  all  a  powerful  example. 

But  Venice  is  not  alone  in  thus  rewarding  her 
greatest  men. 

Bishop  Jacopo  does  not  say  in  so  many  words 
that  Carlo  fulfilled  his  sentence  and  passed  two 
years  in  prison;  so  we  may  hope  that  even  the 
Ten,  with  all  their  daring,  did  not  venture  to  exe- 
cute the  sentence  they  had  pronounced.  All  we 
are  told  is  that  "as  soon  as  he  was  free  to  go  where 
he  pleased"  he  made  a  pilgrimage  to  Jerusalem, 
turning  his  soul  to  religion  and  sacred  things. 
Here  a  curious  incident  is  recorded,  to  which  it  is 
difficult  to  say  what  faith  should  be  given.  In  the 
Holy  City  Carlo,  according  to  his  biographer,  met 
and  formed  a  warm  friendship  with  a  Scotch  prince, 
"Pietro,  son  of  the  King  of  Scotland,"  who  insisted, 
out  of  the  love  and  honor  he  bore  him,  on  knight- 
ing the  aged   Venetian.      We  know  of  no   Prince 

14  Venice 


210  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

Peter  in  Scottish  history,  but  he  might  have  been 
one  of  the  many  sons  of  Robert  II.,  the  first  Stew- 
art king.  The  rank  of  knight,  so  prized  among  the 
Northern  races,  seems  to  have  been,  like  other 
grades,  little  known  among  the  Venetians,  the 
great  distinction  between  the  noble  and  the  ple- 
beian being  the  only  one  existing.  To  be  made  a 
knight  in  peaceful  old  age,  after  a  warlike  career, 
is  a  whimsical  incident  in  Carlo's  life. 

But  though  he  was  old,  and  a  peaceful  pilgrim  on 
a  religious  journey,  his  hand  had  not  forgotten  its 
cunning  in  affairs  of  war;  and  on  his  way  home  he 
lent  his  powerful  aid  to  the  King  of  Cyprus,  and 
once  more,  no  doubt  with  much  satisfaction  to  him- 
self, beat  the  Genoese  and  saved  the  island.  Re- 
turning home  the  old  man,  somewhere  betv/een 
seventy  and  eighty,  married  for  the  third  time,  but 
very  reasonably,  a  lady  of  a  noble  Istrian  family, 
of  an  age  not  unsuitable  to  his  own,  "for  no  other 
reason  than  to  secure  good  domestic  government, 
and  a  consort  and  companion  who  would  take  upon 
herself  all  internal  cares,  and  leave  him  free  to 
study  philosophy  and  the  sacred  writings. "  Let  us 
hope  that  the  old  couple  were  happy,  and  that  the 
lady  was  satisfied  with  the  position  assigned  her. 
Having  thus  provided  for  the  due  regulation  of  all 
his  affairs,  the  old  warrior  gave  himself  up  to  the 
enjoyment  of  his  evening  of  leisure.  He  made 
friends  with  all  the  doctors  and  learned  men  of  his 
day,  a  list  of  names  eruditissmii  in  their  time,  but, 
alas!  altogether  passed  from  human  recollection; 
and  his  house  became  a  second  court,  a  center  of. 
intellectual  life  in  Venice  as  well  as  the  constantv 
haunt  of  honest  statesmen  and  good  citizens  seeking) 
his  advice  on  public  questions  and  material  dii^cul- 
ties  as  they  arose.  As  for  Carlo,  he  loved  nothing 
so  much  as  to  spend  his  time  in  reading  and  writ- 
ing, and  every  day,  when  he  was  able,  heard  Mass 
in  San  Stefano,  *'nor  ever  went  out,"  adds  the 
bishop  with    satisfaction,  "that    he  did   not   go   to 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  '^11 

church  or  some  other  religious  place."  "In  the 
cold  winter  [neir  orrida  e  gelida  inver?tata]  he  had 
his  bed  filled  with  books,  so  that  when  he  had  slept 
sufficiently  he  could  sit  up  in  bed  and  pass  the  rest 
of  the  night  in  i-eading,  nor  would  he  put  down  his 
book  save  for  some  great  necessity."  One  wonders 
what  books  the  noble  old  seaman  had  to  read. 
Scholastic  treatises  on  dry  points  of  mediaeval  phi- 
losophy, hair-splitting  theological  arguments  most 
probably.  Let  us  hope  that  there  blossomed  be- 
tween some  saintly  legends,  some  chronicle  newly 
written  of  the  great  story  of  Venice,  perhaps  some 
sonnet  of  Petrarch's,  whom  Carlo  in  his  early  man- 
hood must  have  met  on  the  Piazza,  or  seen  looking 
out  from  the  windows  on  the  Riva — or,  perhaps, 
even  some  portion  of  the  great  work  of  Dante  the 
Florentine.  He  forgot  himself  and  the  troubles 
of  his  old  age  among  his  books;  but  before  he  had 
reached  the  profounder  quiet  of  the  grave  Carlo 
had  still  great  sorrows  to  bear.  The  worthy  wife 
who  took  the  cares  of  his  household  from  him  grew 
ill  and  died,  to  his  great  grief;  and — a  pang  still 
greater — Jacopo,  his  youngest  son,  the  father  of  the 
bishop,  died,  too,  in  the  flower  of  his  manhood,  at 
thirty,  leaving  the  old  father  desolate.  Another 
son,  Pietro,  survived,  and  was  a  good  seaman  and 
commander;  but  it  was  upon  Jacopo  that  the 
father's  heart  was  set.  At  last,  in  1418,  at  the  age 
of  eighty  four, — in  this  point,  too,  following  the 
best  traditions  of  Venice, — Carlo  Zeno  died,  full  of 
honors  and  of  sorrows.  He  was  buried  with  all 
imaginable  pomp,  the  entire  city  joining  the  funeral 
procession.  One  last  affecting  incident  is  recorded 
in  proof  of  the  honor  in  which  his  country- 
men and  his  profession  held  the  aged  hero.  The 
religious  orders  claimed,  as  was  usual,  the  right  of 
carrying  him  to  his  grave;  but  against  this  the  sea- 
faring population,  quasi  tutii  i  Veueziani  allevati 
sid  mare,  arose  as  one  man,  and  hastening  to  the 
doge  claimed   the  right  of  bearing  to  his  last   rest 


212  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

the  commander  who  had  loved  them  so  well,  'i  ,*^ir 
prayer  was  granted ;  and  with  all  the  ecclesiastical 
splendors  in  front  of  them,  and  all  the  pomp  of  the 
State  behind,  the  seamen  of  Venice,  i  Ve?iezia7ii 
spermejiiaii  iielle  cose  maritime,  carried  him  to  his 
grave;  each  relay  watching  jealously  that  every 
man  might  have  his  turn.  This  band  of  seamen, 
great  and  small,  forming  the  center  of  the  celebra- 
tion, makes  a  fitting  conclusion  to  the  career  of  the 
great  captain,  who  had  so  often  swept  the  seas,  the 
alto  mare^  of  every  flag  hostile  to  his  city. 

But  in  modern  Venice  the  tomb  of  Carlo  Zeno  is 
known  no  more.  He  was  buried  "in  the  celebrated 
church  called  La  Celestia, "  attached  to  a  convent 
of  Cistericans,  but  long  ago  destroyed.  Its  site  and 
what  unknown  fragments  may  remain  of  its  original 
fabric  now  form  part  of  the  Arsenal,  and  there  per- 
haps under  some  forgotten  stone  lie  the  bones  of  the 
great  admiral,  the  scourge  of  Genoa — not,  after  all, 
an  inappropriate  spot. 


CHAPTER    III. 

SOLDIERS   OF    FORTUNE:    CARMAGNOLA. 

The  history  of  Venice  opens  into  a  totally  new 
chapter  when  the  great  republic,  somewhat  humbled 
and  driven  back  by  the  victorious  Turk  from  her 
possessions  beyond  sea,  and  maintaining  with  diffi- 
culty her  broken  supremacy  as  a  maritime  power, 
begins  to  turn  her  eyes  toward  the  green  and  fat 
terra  firma — those  low-lying  plains  that  supplied  her 
with  bread  and  beeves,  which  it  was  so  natural  to 
wish  for,  but  so  uneasy  to  hold.  The  suggestion 
that  her  enemies,  if  united,  could  cut  her  off  at  any 
time  from  her  supplies,  so  nearly  accomplished  in 
the  struggle  for  Chioggia,  was  a  most  plausible  and 
indeed  reasonable  ground  for  acquiring,  if  possible, 
the  command   in  her  own  hands  of  the  rich  Lom- 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  213 

hardy  pastures  and  fields  of  grain.  And  when  the 
inhabitants  of  certain  threatened  cities  hastily  threw 
themselves  on  her  protection  in  order  to  escape 
their  assailant.s,  her  acceptance  was  instantaneous, 
and  it  would  seem  to  have  been  with  an  impulse  of 
delight  that  she  felt  her  foot  upon  the  mainland, 
and  saw  the  possibility  within  her  power  of  estab- 
lishing a  firm  standing,  perhaps  acquiring  a  perma- 
nent empire  there.  It  would  be  hopeless  to  enter 
into  the  confused  and  endless  politics  ot  Guelf  and 
Ghibelline,  which  threw  a  sort  of  veil  over  the  fact 
that  every  man  was  in  reality  for  his  own  hand,  and 
that  to  establish  himself  or  his  leader  in  the  sov- 
ereignty of  a  wealthy  city,  by  help  of  either  one  fac- 
tion or  the  other,  or  in  the  name  of  a  faction,  or  on 
any  other  pretext  that  might  be  handy,  was  the 
real  purpose  of  the  captains  who  cut  and  carved 
Lombardy,  and  of  the  reigning  families  who  had 
already  established  themselves  upon  the  ashes  of 
defunct  republics  or  subdued  municipalities.  But 
of  this  there  was  no  possibility  in  Venice.  No 
Whites  and  Blacks  ever  struggled  in  the  canals. 
The  only  rebellions  that  touched  her  were  those 
made  by  men  or  parties  endeavoring  to  get  a  share 
of  the  power  which  by  this  time  had  been  gathered 
tightl}^,  beyond  all  possibility  of  moving,  in  patri- 
cian hands.  Neither  the  Pope  nor  the  emperor 
was  ever  the  watchword  of  a  party  in  the  supreme 
and  independent  city,  which  dealt  on  equal  terms 
with  both. 

There  was  no  reason,  however,  why  Venice 
should  not  take  advantage  of  these  endless  conten- 
tions; and  there  was  one  existing  in  full  force  which 
helped  to  make  the  wars  of  the  mainland  more  easy 
to  the  rich  Venetians  than  war  had  ever  been  be 
fore.  All  their  previous  expeditions  of  conquest 
which  had  been  neither  few  nor  small,  were  at  the 
cost  of  the  blood  as  well  as  the  wealth  of  Venice; 
had  carried  off  the  best  and  bravest;  and  even,  as 
in  the    romantic   story  of   the    Giustiniani,   swept 


214  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

whole  families  away.  But  this  was  no  longer  the 
case  when  she  strode  upon  terra  firma  with  an  alien 
general  at  her  elbow,  and  mercenary  soldiers  at  her 
back.  Though  they  might  not  turn  out  very  satis- 
factory in  the  long  run,  no  doubt  there  must  have 
been  a  certain  gratification  in  hiring,  so  to  speak,  a 
ready-made  army,  and  punishing  one's  enemy  and 
doubling  one's  possessions  without  so  much  as  a 
scratch  on  one's  own  person  or  the  loss  even  of  a 
retainer.  The  condottieri,  conductors,  leaders, 
captains  of  the  wild  spirits  that  were  to  be  found  all 
over  the  world  in  that  age  of  strife  and  warfare, 
were,  if  not  the  special  creation  of,  at  least  most 
specially  adapted  for  the  necessities  of  those  rich 
towns,  always  tempting  to  the  ambitious,  always  by 
their  very  nature  exposed  to  assault,  and  at  once 
too  busy  and  too  luxurious  at  this  advanced  stage  of 
their  history  to  do  their  fighting  themselves — which 
divided  Italy  among  them,  and  which  were  each 
other's  rivals,  competitors,  and  enemies,  to  the  sad 
hindrance  of  all  national  life,  but  to  the  growth, 
by  every  stimulus  of  competition,  of  arts  and  indus- 
tries and  ways  of  getting  rich — in  which  methods 
each  endeavored  with  the  zeal  of  personal  conflict  to 
outdo  the  rest.  The  rights,  the  liberties  and  inde- 
pendence of  those  cities  were  always  more  or  less  at 
the  mercy  of  any  adventurous  neighboring  prince 
who  had  collected  forces  enough  to  assail  them,  or 
of  the  stronger  among  their  own  fellows.  We  must 
here  add  that  between  the  horrors  of  the  first  mer- 
cenaries, Grmide  Campagfiia^  which  carried  fire  and 
sword  through  Italy,  and  made  Petrarch's  blood  run 
cold,  and  even  the  endless  turbulence  and  treach- 
ery of  the  men  whom  Carlo  Zeno  had  so  much  ado 
to  master,  and  the  now  fully  organized  and  reor- 
ganized armies,  under  their  own  often  famous  and 
sometimes  honorable  leaders,  there  was  a  great 
difference.  The  free  lances  had  become  a  sort  of 
lawful  institution,  appropriate  and  adapted  to  the 
necessities  of  the  time. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICJE.  215 

The  profession  of  soldier  of  fortune  is  not  one 
which  commends  itself  to  us  nowadays;  and  yet 
there  was  nothing  necessarily  in  it  dishonorable  to 
the  generals  who  carried  on  their  game  of  warfare 
at  the  expense  of  the  quarrelsome  races  which  em- 
ployed them,  but  at  wonderfully  little  cost  of  human 
life.  No  great  principle  lay  in  the  question  whether 
Duke  Philip  of  Milan  or  the  republic  of  Venice 
should  be  master  of  Cremona.  One  of  them,  if 
they  wished  it,  was  bound  to  hav.e  the  lesser  city; 
and  what  did  it  matter  to  a  general  who  was 
a  Savoyard,  coming  down  to  those  rich  plains  to 
make  his  fortune,  which  of  these  wealthy  paymas- 
ters he  should  take  service  under?  His  trade  was 
perhaps  as  honest  as  that  of  the  trader  who  buys  in 
the  cheapest  market  and  sells  in  the  dearest  all  the 
world  over.  He  obeyed  the  same  law  of  supply  and 
demand.  He  acted  on  the  same  lively  sense  of  his 
own  interests.  If  he  transferred  himself  in  the 
midst  of  the  war  from  one  side  to  the  other  there 
was  nothing  very  remarkable  in  it,  since  neither  of 
the  sides  was  his  side ;  and  it  was  a  flourishing  trade. 
One  of  its  chief  dangers  was  the  unlucky  accident 
that  occurred  now  and  then,  when  a  general,  who 
failed  of  being  successful,  had  his  head  taken  off  by 
the  Signoria  or  Seigneur  in  whose  employment  he 
was,  probably  on  pretense  of  treason.  But  fightingof 
itself  was  not  dangerous,  at  least  to  the  troops  en- 
gaged, and  spoils  were  plentiful  and  the  life  a  merry 
one.  Ital}^  always  so  rich  in  the  bounties  of  na- 
ture, had  never  been  so  rich  as  in  these  days,  and 
the  troops  had  a  succession  of  villages  always  at 
their  command,  with  the  larger  m.orsel  of  a  rich 
town  to  sack  now  and  then,  prisoners  to  ransom, 
and  all  the  other  chances  of  war.  Their  battles 
were  rather  exercises  of  skill  than  encounters  of  per- 
sonal opponents,  and  it  was  not  unusual  to  achieve 
a  great  feat  of  arms  without  shedding  a  drop  of 
blood.  The  bloodshed  was  among  the  non-combat- 
ants—  the    villagers,   the  harmless    townsfolk    who 


216  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

were  mad  enough   to  resist  them — and  not   among 
the  fighting  men. 

Such  was  the  profession,  w^hen  a  wandering  Savoy- 
ard trooper — perhaps  come  home  with  his  spoils  in 
filial  piety,  or  to  make  glad  the  heart  of  a  rustic  love 
with  trinkets  dragged  from  the  ears  or  pulled 
bloody  from  the  throat  of  some  Lombard  maiden — 
took  note  among  the  fields  of  a  keen-eyed  boy,  who 
carried  his  shaggy  locks  with  such  an  ana  fiera^  so 
proud  an  air,  that  the  soldier  saw  something  beyond 
the  common  recruit  in  this  young  shepherd  lad. 
Romance,  like  nature,  is  pretty  much  the  same  in 
all  regions;  and  young  Francesco,  the  peasant's 
son,  imder  the  big  frontier  tower  of  Carmagnola, 
makes  us  think  with  a  smile  of  young  Norval  "on 
the  Grampian  Hills" — that  noble  young  hero  whose 
history  has  unfortunately  fallen  into  derision.  But 
in  those  distant  days,  when  the  fifteenth  century 
had  just  begun,  and  through  all  the  Continent  there 
was  nothing  heard  but  the  clatter  of  mail  and  the 
tread  of  the  war-horse,  there  was  nothing  ridiculous 
in  the  idea  that  the  boy,  hearing  of  battles,  should 
long  "to  follow  to  the  field  some  warlike  lord,"  or 
should  leave  the  sheep  to  shift  for  themselves,  and 
go  off  with  the  bold  companion  who  had  such 
stories  of  siege  and  fight  to  tell.  He  appears  to 
have  entered  at  once  the  service  of  Facino  Cane, 
one  of  the  greatest  generals  of  the  time,  under 
whom  he  rose,  while  still  quite  young,  to  some  dis- 
tinction. Such,  at  least,  would  seem  to  have  been 
the  case,  since  one  of  the  first  notices  in  the  history 
of  the  young  Piedmontese  is  the  record  in  one  of 
the  old  chronicles  of  a  question  put  to  Facino — Why 
did  he  not  promote  him?  To  which  the  great  con- 
dottiere  replied  that  he  could  not  do  so — the  rustic 
arrogance  of  Francesco  being  such  that,  if  he  got  one 
step,  he  would  never  be  satisfied  till  he  was  chief  of 
all.  For  this  reason,  though  his  military  genius 
was  allowed  full  scope,  he  was  kept  in  as  much  sub- 
jection as  possible,  and  had   but   ten   lances   under 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  217 

him,  and  small  honor,  as  far  as  could  be  seen ;  yet 
was  noted  of  the  captains  as  a  man  born  to  be  some- 
thing beyond  the  ordinary  level  when  his  day  should 
come. 

The  Italian  world  was,  as  usual,  in  a  state  of  great 
disturbance  in  these  days.  Giovanni  or  Gian 
Galeazzo,  the  Duke  of  Milan,  in  his  time  as  master- 
ful an  invader  as  any,  had  died,  leaving  two  sons — 
the  one  who  succeeded  him,  Gian  Maria,,  being  a 
feeble  and  vicious  youth,  of  whose  folly  and  weak- 
ness the  usual  advantages  were  soon  taken.  When 
the  young  duke  was  found  to  be  unable  to  restrain 
them,  the  cities  of  Lombardy  sprang  with  wonder- 
ful unanimity  each  into  a  revolution  of  its  own. 
The  generals  who  on  occasion  had  served  the  house 
of  Visconti  faithfully  enough,  found  now  the  oppor- 
tunity to  which  these  free  lances  were  always  look- 
ing forward,  and  established  themselves,  each  with 
hopes  of  founding  a  new  dukedom,  and  little  inde- 
pendent dominion  of  his  own,  in  the  revolted  cities. 
Piacenza,  Parma,  Cremona,  Lodi,  all  found  thus  a 
new  sovereign,  with  an  army  to  back  him.  The 
duke's  younger  brother,  Filippo  Maria,  had  been 
left  by  his  father  in  possession  of  the  town  of  Pavia, 
a  younger  son's  inheritance;  but  Facino  Cane  made 
light  of  this  previous  settlement,  and  in  the  new 
position  of  affairs,  with  the  house  of  Visconti  visibly 
going  downhill,  took  possession  of  the  city,  retain- 
ing young  Philip  as  half  guest,  half  prisoner.  When 
matters  were  in  this  woeful  state  the  duke  was 
assassinated  in  Milan,  and  by  his  death  the  young 
captive  in  Pavia  became  the  head  of  the  house — to 
little  purpose,  however,  had  things  remained  as 
they  were.  But  on  the  very  same  day  Facino  died 
in  Pavia,  and  immediately  all  the  prospects  of  Philip 
were  altered.  There  was  evidently  no  one  to  take 
the  place  of  the  dead  soldier.  The  troops  who  had 
brought  him  to  that  eminence,  and  the  wealth  he 
had  acquired,  and  the  wife  who  probably  mourned 
but  little  for  the  scarred  and  deaf  old  trooper  who 


218  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

had  won  her  by  his  bow  and  spear,  were  all  left  to 
be  seized  by  the  first  adventurer  who  was  strong 
enough  to  take  advantage  of  the  position.  Whether 
by  his  own  wit  or  the  advice  of  wise  counsellors,  the 
young  disinherited  prince  sprang  into  the  vacant 
place,  and  as  once  a  counter  revolution  began. 

It  would  seem  that  the  death  of  his  leader  raised 
Francesco,  the  Savoyard,  by  an  equally  sudden 
leap,  into  the  front  of  the  captains  of  that  army.  He 
had  taken  the  name  of  his  village,  a  well-sounding 
one  and  destined  to  fatal  celebrity,  perhaps  by 
reason  of  the  want  of  a  surname  which  was  com- 
mon to  Italian  peasants,  and  which  probably  told 
more  among  the  condottieri,  whose  ranks  included 
many  of  the  best  names  in  Italy,  than  it  did  in  art. 
He  was  still  very  young,  not  more  than  twenty-two. 
But  he  would  seem  to  have  had  sufficient  sense  and 
insight  to  perceive  the  greatness  of  the  opportunity 
that  lay  before  him,  and  to  have  at  once  thrown  the 
weight  of  his  sword  and  following  upon  Philip's  side. 
Probably  the  two  young  men  had  known  each  other, 
perhaps  been  comrades  more  or  less,  when  Car- 
magnola  was  a  young  captain  under  Facino's  orders 
and  Philip  an  uneasy  loiterer  about  his  noisy  court. 
At  all  events  Carmagnola  at  once  embraced  the 
prince's  cause.  He  took  Milan  for  him,  killing  an 
illegitimate  rival,  and  overcoming  all  rival  factions 
there;  and  afterward,  as  commander-in-chief  of  the 
Duke  of  Milan's  forces,  reconquered  one  by  one  the 
revolted  cities.  This  was  a  slow  process,  extending 
over  several  seasons — for  those  were  the  days  when 
everything  was  done  by  rule,  when  the  troops 
retired  into  winter  quarters,  and  a  campaign  was  a 
leisurely  performance,  executed  at  a  time  of  year 
favorable  for  such  operations,  and  attended  by  little 
danger  except  to  the  unfortunate  inhabitants  of  the 
district  in  which  it  was  carried  on. 

The  services  thus  rendered  were  largely  and  lib- 
erally rewarded.  A  kinswoman  of  Philip's,  a  lady 
pf  th$  Visconti  family,  whose  first  husband  had  been 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  219 

high  in  the  duke's  confidence,  became  Carmagnola's 
wife,  and  the  privilege  of  bearing  the  name  of 
Visconti  and  the  arms  of  the  reigning  house  was  con- 
ferred upon  him.  He  was  not  only  the  commander- 
in-chief  of  the  troops,  but  held  a  high  place  at 
court,  and  was  one  of  the  chief  and  most  trusted  of 
Philip's  counsellors.  The  Piedmontese  soldier  was 
still  a  young  man  when  all  these  glories  came  upon 
him,  with  accompanying  wealth,  due  also  to  Philip's 
favor,  as  well  as  to  the  booty  won  in  Philip's  cause. 
He  seems  to  have  lived  in  Milan  in  a  state  con- 
formable to  these  high  pretensions  and  to  the 
position  of  his  wife,  and  was  in  the  act  of  building 
himself  a  great  palace,  now  known  as  the  Broletto, 
and  appropriated  to  public  use,  when  the  usual  fate 
of  a  favorite  began  to  shadow  over  him.  This  was  in 
the  year  1424,  twelve  years  after  he  had  thrown  in 
his  fate  with  the  prince  in  Pavia.  The  difference 
in  Philip's  position  by  this  time  was  wonderful.  He 
had  then  possessed  nothing  save  a  doubtful  claim 
on  the  city  where  he  was  an  exile  and  prisoner. 
He  was  now  one  of  the  greatest  powers  in  Italy, 
respected  and  feared  by  his  neighbors,  the  master 
of  twenty  rich  cities,  and  of  all  the  wealthy  Lom- 
bard plains.  To  these  Carmagnola  had  lately  added 
the  richest  prize  of  all,  in  the  humiliation  and  over- 
throw of  Genoa,  superbest  of  northern  towns,  with 
her  seaboard  and  trade,  and  all  her  proud  tradi- 
tions of  independence,  the  equal  and  rival  of  the 
great  republic  of  Venice.  Perhaps  this  last  feat  had 
unduly  exalted  the  soldier,  and  made  him  feel  him- 
self as  a  conqueror,  something  more  than  the  duke's 
humble  kinsman  and  counsellor;  at  all  events,  the 
eve  of  the  change  had  come. 

The  tenure  of  a  favorite's  favor  is  always  uncer- 
tain and  precarious.  In  those  days  there  were  many 
who  rose  to  the  heights  of  fame  only  to  be  tumbled 
headlong  in  a  moment  from  that  dazzling  eminence. 
Carmagnola  was  at  the  very  height  of  fortune  when 
glouds  began  to  gather  over  his  career,  though  nq 


220  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

idea  of  treachery  was  then  imputed  to  him  ;  he  had 
been,  if  anything,  too  zealous  for  his  duke,  to  whose 
service  in  the  meantime,  as  to  that  of  a  great  and 
conquering  prince,  full  of  schemes  for  enlarging  his 
own  territory  and  affording  much  occupation  for  a 
brave  soldiery, many  other  commanders  had  flocked. 
The  enemies  of  Carmagnola  were  many.  Generals 
whom  he  had  beaten  felt  their  downfall  all  the 
greater  that  it  had  been  accomplished  by  a  fellow 
without  any  blood  worth  speaking  of  in  his  veins; 
and  others  whom  it  would  have  pleased  Philip  to 
secure  in  his  service  were  too  proud  to  serve  under 
a  man  who  had  thus  risen  from  the  ranks. 

The  first  sign  which  the  doomed  general  received 
of  his  failing  favor  was  a  demand  from  Philip  for 
the  squadron  of  horsemen,  three  hundred  in  number, 
who  seem  to  have  been  Carmagnola's  special  troop, 
and  for  whom  the  duke  declared  that  he  had  a  par- 
ticular use.  The  reply  of  the  general  is  at  once 
picturesque  and  pathetic.  He  implored  Philip  not 
to  take  the  weapons  out  of  the  hands  of  a  man  born 
and  bred  in  the  midst  of  arms,  and  to  whom  lite 
would  be  bare  indeed  without  his  soldiers.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  it  is  to  be  presumed  that  this  was 
but  the  thin  end  of  the  wedge,  and  that  other  indig- 
nities were  prepared  to  follow.  The  clique  at  Milan 
which  was  furthering  his  downfall  was  led  by  two 
courtiers,  Riccio  and  Lampugnano.  "Much  bet- 
ter," says  Bigli,  the  historian  of  Milan,  who  narrates 
diffusely  the  whole  course  of  the  quarrel,  "would  it 
have  been  for  our  state  had  such  men  as  these  never 
been  born.  They  kept  everything  from  the  duke 
except  what  it  pleased  him  to  learn.  And  it  was 
easy  for  them  to  fill  the  mind  of  Philip  with  sus- 
picions, for  he  himself  began  to  wish  that  Francesco 
Carmagnola  should  not  appear  so  great  a  man." 
Carmagnola  received  no  answer  to  his  remonstrance, 
and  by  and  by  discovered,  what  is  gallmg  in  all  cir- 
cumstances, and  in  his  especially  so,  that  the  matter 
had  been  decided  by  the  gossips  of  the  court,  and 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  221 

that  it  was  a  conspiracy  of  his  enemies  which  was 
settling  his  fate.  Fierce  and  full  of  irritation,  a  man 
who  could  never  at  any  time  restrain  his  master- 
ful temper,  and  still,  no  doubt,  with  much  in  him  of 
the  arrogant  rustic  whom  Facino  could  not  make  a 
captain  of,  lest  he  should  at  once  clutch  at  the 
baton,  Carmagnola  determined  to  face  his  enemies 
and  plead  his  own  cause  before  his  prince.  The 
duke  was  at  Abbiate-grasso,  on  the  borders  of  Pied- 
mont, a  frontier  fortress,  within  easy  reach  of 
Genoa,  where  Carmagnola  was  Governor;  and 
thither  he  rode  with  few  attendants,  no  doubt 
breathing  fire  and  flame,  and,  in  his  consciousness 
of  all  he  had  done  for  Philip,  very  confident  of  turn- 
ing the  tables  upon  his  miserable  assailants,  and 
making  an  end  of  them  and  their  wiles.  His  letters 
had  not  been  answered — no  notice  whatever  had 
been  taken  of  his  appeal;  but  still  it  seemed  impos- 
sible to  doubt  that  Philip,  with  his  trusty  champion 
before  him,  would  remember  all  that  had  passed 
between  them,  and  all  that  Francesco  had  done, 
and  do  him  justice.  His  swift  setting  out  to  put 
all  right,  with  an  angry  contempt  of  his  assailants, 
but  absolute  confidence  in  the  renewal  of  his  old 
influence  as  soon  as  Philip  should  see  him,  might 
be  paralleled  in  many  a  quarrel.  For  nothing  is 
so  difficult  as  to  teach  a  generous  and  impulsive 
man  that  the  friend  for  whom  he  has  done  too  much 
may  suddenly  become  incapable  of  bearing  the  bur- 
den of  obligation  and  gratitude. 

Arrived  at  Abbiate,  he  was  about  to  ride  over  the 
bridge  into  the  castle,  when  he  was  stopped  by  the 
guards,  whose  orders  were  to  hinder  his  entrance. 
This  to  the  commander-in-chief  was  an  extraordi- 
nary insult ;  but  at  first  astonishment  was  the  only 
feeling  Carmagnola  evidenced.  He  sent  word  to 
Philip  that  he  was  there  desiring  an  audience,  and 
waited  with  his  handful  of  men,  the  horses  pawing 
the  ground,  their  riders  chafing  at  the  compulsory 
pause,  which  no  one  understood.     But  instead  of 


222  "       THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

being  then  admitted  with  apologies  and  excuses,  a^ 
perhaps  Carmagnola  still  hoped,  the  answer  sent 
him  was  that  Philip  was  busy,  but  that  he  might 
communicate  what  he  had  to  say  to  Riccio.  Curb- 
ing his  rage,  the  proud  soldier  sent  another  message 
to  the  effect  that  he  had  certain  private  matters  for 
the  duke's  ear  alone.  To  this  no  reply  was  given. 
The  situation  is  wonderfully  striking,  and  full  of 
dramatic  force.  Carmagnola  and  his  handful  of 
men  on  one  side  of  the  bridge;  the  castle  rising  on 
the  other  with  all  its  towers  and  bastions  dark 
against  the  sky;  the  half-frightened  yet  half-inso- 
lent guards  trembling  at  their  own  temerity,  yet 
glad  enough  to  have  a  hand  in  the  discomfiture  of 
the  rustic  commander,  the  arrogant  and  high- 
handed captain,  who  of  his  origin  was  no  better 
than  they.  The  parley  seems  to  have  gone  on  for 
some  time,  during  which  Carmagnola  was  held  at 
bay  by  the  attendants,  who  would  make  him  no 
answer  other  than  a  continual  reference  to  Riccio, 
his  well-known  enemy.  Then  as  he  scanned  the 
dark,  unresponsive  towers  with  angry  eyes,  he  saw, 
or  thought  he  saw,  the  face  of  Philip  himself  at  a 
loophole.  This  lit  the  smoldering  fire  of  passion. 
He  raised  his  voice — no  small  voice  it  may  well  be 
believed — and  shouted  forth  his  message  to  his  un- 
grateful master.  ''Since  I  cannot  speak  before  my 
lord  the  duke,"  he  cried,  "I  call  God  to  witness  my 
innocence  and  faithfulness  to  him.  I  have  not 
been  guilty  even  of  imagining  evil  against  him.  I 
have  never  taken  thought  for  myself,  for  my  blood 
or  my  life,  in  comparison  with  the  name  and  power 
of  Philip."  Then,  ''carried  on  in  the  insolence  of 
his  words,"  says  the  chronicle,  "he  accused  the  per- 
fidious traitors,  and  called  God  to  witness  that  in  a 
short  time  he  would  make  them  feel  the  want  of 
one  whom  the  duke  refused  to  hear." 

So  speaking,  Carmagnola  turned  his  horse  and 
took  his  way  toward  the  river.  When  the  conspira- 
tors in  the  castle  saw  the  direction  he  was  taking,  a 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VEKIC£.  ^^3 

thrill  of  alarm  seems  to  have  moved  them,  and  one 
of  them,  Oldrado,  dashed  forth  from  the  gate  with 
a  band  of  followers  to  prevent  Carmagnola  from 
crossing  the  Ticino,  which  was  then  the  boundary 
of  Savoy.  But  when  he  saw  the  great  captain  "rid- 
ing furiously  across  the  fields"  toward  Ticino,  the 
heart  of  the  pursuer  failed  him.  Carmagnola  would 
seem  never  to  have  paused  to  think, — which  was  not 
the  fashion  of  his  time, — but,  carried  along  in  head- 
long impulse,  wild  with  the  thought  of  his  dozen 
years  of  service,  all  forgotten  in  a  moment,  did  not 
draw  bridle  till  he  reached  the  castle  of  the  Duke  of 
vSavoy,  his  native  prince,  to  whom  he  immediately 
offered  himself  and  his  services,  telling  the  story 
of  his  wrong.  Notwithstanding  his  fury,  he  seems 
to  have  exonerated  Philip — a  doubtful  compliment, 
since  he  held  him  up  to  the  contempt  of  his  brother 
potentate  as  influenced  by  the  rabble  of  his  court, 
*'the  singers,  actors,  and  inventors  of  all  crimes, 
who  make  use  of  the  labors  of  others  in  order  to  live 
in  sloth. "  Mere  vituperation  of  Philip's  advisers, 
however,  was  not  to  the  purpose,  and  Carmagnola 
artfully  suggested  to  Duke  Amadeo  certain  towns 
more  justly  his  than  Philip's  Asti,  Alessandria,  and 
others,  which  it  would  be  easy  to  withdraw  from  the 
yoke  of  Milan.  It  must  have  been  difficult  for  a 
fifteenth- century  prince  to  resist  such  an  argument, 
but  Amadeo,  though  strongly  tempted,  was  not 
powerful  enough  to  declare  war  by  himself  against 
the  great  Duke  of  Milan;  and  the  fiery  visitor,  leav- 
ing excitement  and  commotion  behind  him,  contin- 
ued his  journey,  making  his  way  across  a  spur  of  the 
Pennine  Alps,  by  Trient  and  Treviso  (but  as  secretly 
as  possible,  lest  the  Swiss,  whom  he  had  beaten, 
should  hear  of  his  passage  and  rise  against  him),  till 
he  reached  Venice,  to  stir  up  a  still  more  effectual 
ferment  there. 

We  are  now  brought  back  to  our  city,  where  for 
some  time  past  the  proceedings  of  Philip,  and  the 
progress  he  was  making,  especially  the  downfall  of 


224  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

Genoa,  had  filled  the  Signoria  with  alarm.  The 
Venetians  must  have  looked  on  with  very  mingled 
feelings  at  the  overthrow  of  the  other  republic, 
their  own  great  and  unfailing  enemy,  with  whom, 
over  and  over  again,  they  had  struggled  almost  to 
the  death,  yet  who  could  not  be  seen  to  fall  under 
the  power  of  a  conqueror,  with  any  kind  of  satisfac- 
tion. The  Florentines,  too,  had  begun  to  stir  in 
consternation  and  amaze,  and  communications  had 
passed  between  the  two  great  cities  even  in  the 
time  of  the  Doge  Mocenigo,  the  predecessor  of 
Foscari,  who  was  the  occupant  of  the  ducal  throne 
at  the  time  of  Carmagnola's  sudden  appearance  on 
the  scene.  Old  Mocenigo  had  not  favored  the  alli- 
ance with  the  Florentines.  There  is  a  long  speech 
of  his  recorded  by  Sanudo  which  reminds  us  of  the 
pleadings  in  Racine's  comedy,  where  the  sham  advo- 
cates go  back  to  the  foundation  of  the  world  for 
their  arguments — and  which  affords  us  a  singular 
glimpse  of  the  garrulous  and  vehement  old  man, 
who  hated  his  probable  successor,  and  the  half  of 
whose  rambling  discourse  is  addressed,  it  would 
seem,  personally  to  Foscari,  then  junior  procurator, 
who  had  evidently  taken  up  the  cause  of  the  neigh- 
boring republics. 

"Our  junior  ^TocvLVsd,OT  {procuratore  gtovane),  Ser  Francesco 
Foscari,  Savio  del  Consiglio,  has  declared  to  the  public 
{scopra  rarrmgo)  all  that  the  Florentines  have  said  to  the 
council  and  all  that  we  have  said  to  your  Excellencies  in  reply. 
He  says  that  it  is  well  to  succor  the  Florentines  because  their 
good  is  our  good,  and,  in  consequence,  their  evil  is  our  evil. 
In  due  time  and  place  we  reply  to  this.  Procuratore  giovane; 
God  created  and  made  the  angelical  nature,  which  is  the  most 
noble  of  all  created  things,  and  gave  it  certain  limits  by 
which  it  should  follow  the  way  of  good  and  not  of  evil.  The 
angels  chose  the  bad  way  that  leads  to  evil.  God  punished 
them  and  banished  them  from  Paradise  to  the  Inferno,  and 
from  being  good  they  became  bad.  This  same  thing  we  say  to 
the  Florentines  who  come  here  seeking  the  evil  way.  Thus 
will  it  happen  to  us  if  we  consent  to  that  which  our  junior 
procurator  has  said.  But  take  comfort  to  yourselves  that  you 
live  in  peace.  If  ever  the  Duke  (of  Milan)  makes  unjust  war 
against  you,  God  is  with  you,  Who   sees   all.     He    will   sa 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  225 

arrange  it  that  you  shall  have  the  victory.  Let  us  live  in 
peace,  for  God  is  peace :  and  he  who  desires  war,  let  him  go 
to  perdition.  Procuratore  giovane ;  God  created  Adam  wise, 
good,  and  perfect,  and  gave  him  the  earthly  Paradise,  where 
was  peace,  with  two  commandments,  saying,  'Enjoy  peace 
with  all  that  is  in  Paradise,  but  eat  not  the  fruit  of  a  certain 
tree. '  And  he  |was  disobedient  and  sinned  in  pride,  not  be- 
ing willing  to  acknowledge  that  he  was  merely  a  creature. 
And  God  deprived  him  of  Paradise,  where  peace  dwells,  and 
drove  him  out  and  put  him  in  war,  which  is  this  world,  and 
cursed  him  and  all  human  generations.  And  one  brother 
killed  the  other,  going  from  bad  to  worse.  Thus  it  will  hap- 
pen to  the  Florentines  for  their  fighting  which  they  have 
among  themselves.  And  if  we  follow  the  counsel  of  our 
junior  procurator  thus  will  it  happen  also  to  us.  Procuratore 
giovane:  Aiter  the  sin  of  Cain,  who  knew  not  his  Creator  nor 
did  His  will,  God  punished  the  world  by  the  flood,  excepting 
Noah,  whom  He  preserved.  Thus  will  it  happen  to  the  Flor- 
entines in  their  determination  to  have  their  own  way,  that 
God  will  destroy  their  country  and  their  possessions,  and 
they  will  come  to  dwell  here,  in  the  same  way  as  families 
with  their  women  and  children  came  to  dwell  in  the  city  of 
Noah,  who  obeyed  God  and  trusted  in  Him.  Otherwise,  if 
we  follow  the  counsel  of  our  junior  procurator,  our  people 
will  have  to  go  away  and  dwell  in  strange  lands.  Procuratore 
giovane:  Noah  was  a  holy  man  elect  of  God,  and  Cain  de- 
parted from  God;  the  which  slew  Japhet  (Abel?)* and  God 
punished  him;  of  whom  were  born  the  giants,  who  were 
tyrants  and  did  whatever  seemed  good  in  their  own  eyes,  not 
fearing  God.  God  made  of  one  language  sixty*six,  and  at 
the  end  they  destroyed  each  other,  so  that  there  remained  no 
one  of  the  seed  of  the  giants.  Thus  will  it  happen  to  the 
Florentines  for  seeking  their  own  will  and  not  fearing  God. 
Of  their  language  sixty-six  languages  will  be  made.  For 
they  go  out  day  by  day  into  France,  Germany,  Languedoc, 
Catalonia,  Hungary,  and  throughout  Italy ;  and  they  will  thus 
be  dispersed,  so  that  no  man  will  be  able  to  say  that  he  is 
of  Florence.  Thus  will  it  be  if  we  follow  the  advice  of  our 
junior  procurator.     Therefore,  fear  God  and  hope  in  Him." 

We  can  almost  see  the  old  man,  with  fiery  eyes 
and  moist  mouth,  stammering  forth  these  angry 
maunderings,  leaning  across  the  council  table,  with 
his  fierce  personal  designation  of  the  procuratore 
giovane,  the  proud  young  man  in  his  strength, 
whom  not  all  the  vituperations  of  old  Mocenigo,  or  his 
warnings  to  the  council,  could  keep  out  of  the  ducal 
chair  so  soon  as  death  made  it  vacant.      And  there 

15  Venice 


226  tHE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

is  somewhat  very  curious  in  this  confused  jamble 
of  arofuments,  so  inconsequent,  so  earnest — the  old 
man's  love  of  peace  and  a  quiet  life  mingled  with 
the  cunning  of  the  aged  mediaeval  statesman  who 
could  not  disabuse  his  mind  of  the  idea  that  the 
destruction  of  Florence  would  swell  the  wealth  of 
Venice.  In  the  latter  part  of  the  long,  rambling 
discourse,  mixed  up  with  all  manner  of  Scripture 
parallels  not  -much  more  to  the  purpose  than  those 
above  quoted,  the  speaker  returns  to  and  insists 
upon  the  advantage  to  be  gained  by  Venice  from 
the  influx  of  refugees  from  all  the  neighboring 
cities.  "If  the  duke  takes  Florence,"  cries  the  old 
man,  *'the  Florentines,  who  are  accustomed  to  live 
in  equality,  will  leave  Florence  and  come  to  Venice, 
and  bring  with  them  the  silk  trade,  and  the  manu- 
facture of  wool,  so  that  their  country  will  be  with- 
out trade,  and  Venice  will  grow  rich,  as  happened 
in  the  case  of  Lucca  when  it  fell  into  the  hands  of  a 
tyrant.  The  trade  of  Lucca  and  it  wealth  came  to 
Venice,  and  Lucca  became  poor.  Wherefore,  re- 
main in  peace." 

Romanin,  always  watchful  for  the  credit  ot 
Venice,  attempts  to  throw  some  doubt  upon  this 
wonderful  speech,  which,  however,  is  given  on  the 
same  authority  as  that  which  gives  us  old  Mocen- 
igo's  report  of  the  accounts  of  the  republic  and 
his  words  of  warning  against  Foscari,  which  are 
admitted  to  be  authentic.  It  gives  us  a  remarkable 
view  of  the  mixture  of  wisdom  and  folly,  astute 
calculation  of  the  most  fiercely  selfish  kind,  and 
irrelevant  argument,  which  is  characteristic  of  the 
age. 

It  was  in  the  year  142 1  that  Mocenigo  thus  dis- 
coursed. He  died  two  years  later  at  the  age  of 
eighty,  and  the  procuratore  giovane,  whom  he  had 
addressed  so  fiercely,  succeeded  as  the  old  man  fore- 
saw. He  was  that  Francesco  Foscari  whose  cruel 
end  we  have  already  seen,  but  at  this  time  in  all  the 
force  and  magnificence  of  his  manhood,  and  with  a 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  227 

great  career  before  him — or,  at  least,  with  a  great 
episode  of  Venetian  history,  a  period  full  of  agita- 
tion, victory,  and  splendor  before  the  city  under 
his  rule.  When  Carmagnola,  in  hot  revolt,  and 
breathing  nothing  but  projects  of  vengeance,  ar- 
rived within  the  precincts  of  the  republic,  a  great 
change  had  taken  place  in  the  views  of  the  Vene- 
tians. The  Florentine  envoys  had  been  received 
with  sympathy  and  interest,  and  as  Philip's  troops 
approached  nearer  and  nearer,  threatening  their 
very  city,  the  Venetian  government,  though 
not  yet  moved  to  active  interference,  had  felt  it 
necessary  to  make  a  protest  and  appeal  to  Philip,  to 
whom  they  were  still  bound  by  old  alliances  made 
in  Mocenigo's  time,  in  favor  of  the  sister  republic. 
Rivalships  there  might  be  in  time  of  peace;  but  the 
rulers  of  Venice  could  not  but  regard  "with  much 
gravity  and  lament  deeply  the  adversity  of  a  free 
people,  determining  that  whosoever  would  retain 
the  friendship  of  Venice  should  be  at  peace  with 
Florence."  The  envoy  or  orator,  Paolo  Cornaro, 
who  was  sent  with  this  protest,  presented  it  in  a 
speech  reported  by  the  chronicler  Sabellico,  in 
which,  with  much  dignity,  he  enjoins  and  urges 
upon  Philip  the  determination  of  the  republic. 
Venetians  and  Florentines  both  make  short  work 
with  the  independence  of  others;  but  yet  there  is 
something  noble  in  the  air  with  which  they  vindi- 
cate their  own. 

Nothing  (says  Cornaro)  is  more  dear  to  the  Venetians  than 
freedom ;  to  the  preservation  of  which  they  are  called  by  just- 
ice, metcy,  religion,  and  every  other  law,  both  public  and 
private ;  counting  nothing  more  praiseworthy  than  what  is 
done  to  this  end.  And  neither  treaties  nor  laws,  nor  any 
other  reason,  divine  or  human,  can  make  them  depart  from 
this,  that  before  everything  freedom  must  be  secured.  And 
in  so  far  as  regards  the  present  case,  the  Venetians  hold 
themselves  as  much  bound  to  bestir  themselves  when  Flor- 
ence is  in  danger  as  if  the  army  of  Philip  was  on  the  frontier 
of  their  own  dominion ;  for  it  becomes  those  who  have  free- 
dom themselves  to  be  careful  of  that  of  others ;  and  as  the  re- 
publican forms  of  government  possessed  by  Florence  resemble 


22^  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

greatly  their  own,  their  case  is  like  that  of  those  who  suffer 
no  less  in  the  sufferings  of  their  brethren  and  relations  than 
if  the  misfortune  was  theirs.  Nor  is  there  any  doubt  that  he 
who  in  Tuscany  contends  against  freedom  in  every  other 
place  will  do  the  same,  as  is  the  custom  of  tyrants,— who  have 
ever  the  name  ot  freedom  in  abhorrence. 

The  speaker  ends  by  declaring  that  if  Philip  car- 
ries on  his  assaults  against  the  Florentines,  Venice 
for  her  own  safety,  as  well  as  for  that  of  her  sister 
city,  will  declare  war  against  him  as  a  tyrant  and  an 
enemy.  "This  oration  much  disturbed  the  soul  of 
Philip."  But  he  was  full  of  the  intoxication  of 
success,  and  surrounded  by  a  light-hearted  court,  to 
whom  victory  had  become  a  commonplace.  The 
giovanotti  dishojiestissimi^  foolish  young  courtiers 
who,  from  the  time  of  King  Rehoboam,  have  led 
young  princes  astray,  whose  jeers  and  wiles  had 
driven  Carmagnola  to  despair,  were  not  to  be 
daunted  by  the  grave  looks  of  the  noble  Venetian, 
whom,  no  doubt  they  felt  themselves  capable  ot 
laughing  and  flattering  out  of  his  seriousness. 

The  next  scene  of  the  drama  takes  place  in 
Venice,  to  which  Philip  sent  an  embassy  to  answer 
the  mission  of  Coniaro,  led  by  the  same  Oldrado, 
who  had  made  that  ineffectual  rush  after  Car- 
magnola from  the  castle  gates,  and  who  was  one  of 
his  chief  enemies.  An  embassy  from  Florence 
arrived  at  the  same  tim.e,  and  the  presence  of  these 
two  opposing  bands  filled  with  interest  and  excite- 
ment the  City  of  the  Sea,  where  a  new  thing  was 
received  with  as  much  delight  as  in  Athens  of  old, 
and  where  the  warlike  spirit  was  always  so  ready  to 
light  up.  The  keen  eyes  of  the  townsfolk  seized  at 
once  upon  the  difference  so  v  isible  in  the  two  par- 
ties. The  Milanese,  ruffling  in  their  fine  clothes, 
went  about  the  city  gayly,  as  if  they  had  come  for 
no  other  purpose  than  to  see  the  sights,  which,  says 
Bigli,  who  was  himself  of  Milan,  and  probably 
thought  a  great  deal  too  much  fuss  was  made  about 
this  wonderful  sea-city,  seemed  ridiculous  to  the 
Venetians,  so   that  they  almost  believed  the  duke 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  229 

was  making  a  jest  of  them.  The  Florentines,  on 
the  contrary,  grave  as  was  their  fashion,  and 
doubly  serious  in  the  dangerous  position  of  their 
affairs,  went  about  the  streets  ''as  if  in  mourning," 
eagerly  addressing  everybody  who  might  be  of 
service  to  them.  Sabellico  gives  a  similar  account 
of  the  two  parties: 

There  might  then  be  seen  in  the  city  divers  ambassadors  of 
divers  demeanor  (he  says),  Lorenzo  (the  Florentine),  as  was 
befitting,  showed  tue  siidness  and  humble  condition  of  his 
country,  seeking  to  speak  with  the  senators  even  in  the  streets, 
following  ihem  to  tliei:  houses,  and  neglecting  nothing  which 
might  be  to  the  profit  of  the  embassy.  On  the  other  hand, 
those  of  Philip,  not  to  speak  of  their  pomp,  and  decorations 
of  many  i  .iids,  full  of  hope  and  confidence,  went  gazing  about 
the  city  so  marvelously.  built,  such  as  they  had  never  seen 
before,  full  of  wonder  how  all  these  things  of  the  earth  could 
be  placed  upon  the  sea.  And  they  replied  cheerfully  to  all 
who  saluted  them ;  showing  in  their  faces,  in  their  eyes,  by  all 
they  said,  and,  in  short,  by  every  outward  sign  of  satisfaction, 
the  prosperity  of  their  duke  and  country. 

The  dark  figure  of  the  Florentine,  awaiting  anx- 
iously the  red-robed  senator  as  he  made  his  way 
across  the  Piazza,  or  hurrying  after  him  through  the 
narrow  thoroughfares,  while  this  gay  band,  in  all 
their  finery,  swept  by,  must  have  made  an  impress- 
ive comment  upon  the  crisis  in  which  so  much  was 
involved.  While  the  Milanese  swam  in  a  gondola, 
or  gazed  at  the  marbles  on  the  walls,  or  here  and 
there  an  early  mosaic,  all  blazing,  like  themselves, 
in  crimson  and  gold,  the  ambassador,  upon  whose 
pleading  hung  the  dear  life  of  Florence,  haunted 
the  bridges  and  the  street  corners,  letting  nobody 
pass  that  could  help  him.  "How  goes  the  cause 
to-day,  illustrious  signor?"  onecan  hear  him  saying. 
"What  hope  for  my  country,  la  patria  mia?  Will 
the  noble  Signoria  hear  me  speak?  Will  it  be  given 
me  to  plead  my  cause  before  their  Magnificences?" 
Or  in  a  bolder  tone,  "Our  cause  is  yours,  most 
noble  sir,  though  it  may  not  seem  so  now.  If  Philip 
sets  his  foot  on  the  neck  of  Florence,  which  never 


230  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

shall  be  while  I  live,  how  long  will  it  be,  think 
you,  before  his  trumpets  sound  at  Mestre  over  the 
marshes,  before  he  has  stirred  your  Istrians  to  re- 
volt?" The  senators  passing  to  and  fro,  perhaps 
in  the  early  morning  after  a  long  night  in  the  coun- 
cil chamber,  as  happened  sometimes,  had  their 
steps  waylaid  by  this  earnest  advocate.  The 
Venetians  were  more  given  to  gayety  than  their 
brothers  from  the  Arno,  but  they  were  men  who 
before  everything  else  cared  for  their  constitution, 
so  artfully  and  skillfully  formed — for  their  free- 
dom,' such  as  it  was,  and  the  proud  independence 
which  no  alien  force  had  ever  touched;  and  the 
stranger  with  his  rugged  Tuscan  features  and  dark 
dress,  and  keen  inharmonious  accent,  among  all  their 
soft  Venetian  talk,  no  doubt  impressed  the  imag- 
ination of  a  susceptible  race.  Whereas  the  Milanese 
gallants,  in  their  gayety  affecting  to  see  no  serious 
object  in  their  mission,  commended  themselves  only 
to  the  light-minded,  not  to  the  fathers  of  the  city. 
And  when  Carmagnola,  the  great  soldier,  known 
of  all  men — he  who  had  set  Philip  back  upon  this 
throne  as  everybody  knew,  and  won  so  many  bat- 
tles and  cities — with  all  the  romantic  interest  ot  a 
hero  and  an  injured  man,  came  across  the  lagoon 
and  landed  at  the  Piazzetta  between  the  fatal  pil- 
lars, how  he  and  his  scarred  and  bearded  men-at- 
arms  must  have  looked  at  the  gay  courtiers  with 
their  jests  and  laughter,  who,  on  their  side,  could 
scarcely  fail  to  shrink  a  little  when  the  man  whose 
ruin  they  had  plotted  went  past  them  to  say  his  say 
before  the  Signoria,  in  a  sense  fatally'  different 
from  theirs,  as  they  must  have  known. 

The  speeches  of  these  contending  advocates  are  all 
given  at  length  in  the  minute  and  graphic  chron- 
icle. The  first  to  appear  before  the  doge  and  Sen- 
ate was  Lorenzo  Ridolfi,  the  Florentine,  who  con- 
joins his  earnest  pleading  for  aid  to  his  own  state 
with  passionate  admonitions  and  warnings,  that  if 
Venice  gives  no  help  to  avert  the  consequence,  her 


THE  MAKERS  OP^  VENICE.  231 

fate  will  soon  be  the  same.  "Serene  Prince  and 
illustrious  senators,"  he  cries,  "even  if  I  were 
silent  you  would  understand  what  I  came  here  to 
seek." 

' '  And  those  also  would  understand  who  have  seen  us  leave 
Tuscany  and  come  here  in  haste,  ambassadors  from  a  free 
city,  to  ask  your  favor,  and  help  for  the  protection  of  our  lib- 
erties, from  a  free  people  like  yourselves.  The  object  of  all 
my  speaking  is  this,  to  induce  you  to  grant  safety  to  my  coun- 
try, which  has  brought  forth  and  'red  me,  and  given  me 
honor  and  credit— which  if  I  can  attain,  and  that  you  should 
join  the  confederation  and  friendship  of  the  Florentines,  and 
join  your  army  with  our  Tuscans  against  the  cruelest  tyrant, 
enemy  of  our  liberties,  and  hating  yours,  happy  shall  be  my 
errand,  and  my  country  will  embrace  me  with  joy  on  my 
return.  And  our  citizens,  who  live  in  this  sole  hope,  will  hold 
themselves  and  their  city  by  your  bounty  alone  to  be  saved 
from  every  peril.  ...  I  tremble,  noble  Prince,  in  this  place 
to  say  that  which  I  feel  in  my  soul ;  but,  because  it  is  neces- 
sary, I  will  say  it.  If  you  will  not  make  this  alliance  with  us, 
Philip  will  find  himself  able  without  help,  having  overthrown 
Florence,  to  secure  also  the  dominion  of  Venice.  If  it  should 
be  answered  me  that  the  Venetians  always  keep  their  promises 
and  engagements,  I  pray  and  implore  the  most  high  God  that, 
having  give  you  goodness  and  faith  to  keep  your  promises, 
He  would  give  you  to  know  the  arts  and  motives  of  this 
tyrant,  and  after  discovering  them,  with  mature  prudence* to 
restrain  and  overrule  them.  .  .  .  That  tyrant  himself,  who 
has  so  often  broken  all  laws,  both  divine  and  human,  will 
himself  teach  you  not  to  keep  that  which  he,  in  his  perfidity, 
has  not  kept.  But  already  your  tacit  consent  gives  me  to 
understand  that  I  have  succeeded  in  convincing  you  that  in 
this  oration  I  seek  not  so  much  the  salvation  of  my  republic  as 
the  happiness,  dignity,  and  increase  of  your  own." 

This  speech  moved  the  senators  greatly,  but  did 
not  settle  the  question,  their  minds  being  divided 
between  alarm,  sympathy,  and  prudence, — fear  of 
Philip  on  the  one  hand  and  of  expense  on  the  other, 
— so  that  they  resolved  to  hear  Philip's  ambassadors 
first  before  coming  to  any  decision.  Time  was 
given  to  the  orator  of  the  Milan  party  to  prepare 
his  reply  to  Ridolfi,  which  he  made  in  a  speech  full 
of  bravado,  declaring  that  he  and  his  fellows  were 
sent,  not  to  make  any  league  or  peace  with  Venice, 


232  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

since  their  former  treaties  were  still  in  full  force, 
and  any  renewal  was  unnecessary  between  such 
faithful  allies— but  simply  to  salute  the  illustrious 
Signoria  in  Philip's  name. 

"But  since  these  people,  who  have  by  nature  the  gift  of 
speech,  delicate  and  false,  have  not  only  to  the  Senate,  but  in 
the  Piazza  and  by  the  streets,  with  pitiful  lamentations,  wept 
their  fate,  declaring  that  the  war  which  they  have  carried  on 
so  badly  was  begun  by  Philip;  he  desires  to  leave  it  to  your 
judgment,  not  refusing  any  conditions  which  you  may  pre- 
scribe. What  they  say  is  false  and  vain,  unheard  of  things,  such 
as  they  are  accustomed  to  study  in  order  to  abuse  your  grav- 
ity, your  constancy,  the  ancient  laws  of  friendship,  and  all  the 
treaties  made  with  Philip.  They  bid  you  fear  him  and  the 
increase  of  his  power.  But  you  know  they  are  our  enemies 
who  speak.  They  tell  you  that  kings  hate  the  name  of  repub- 
lics. ...  It  is  true  that  King  Louis  was  a  cruel  enemy  of  the 
Venetian  name,  and  all  the  house  of  Carrara  were  your  ene- 
mies. But  the  Visconti,  who  for  a  hundred  years  have  flour- 
ished in  the  nobile  duchy  of  Milan,  were  always  friends  of  the 
Venetian  republic.  .  .  .  Philip  has  had  good  reasons  to  war 
against  the  Florentines,  and  so  have  all  the  Visconti.  They 
ought  to  accuse  themselves,  their  pride  and  avarice,  not  Philip, 
who  is  the  friend  of  pace  and  repose,  the  very  model  of  lib- 
erality and  courtesy.  Let  them  therefore  cease  to  abuse  and 
injure  our  noble  duke  in  your  presence.  Being  provoked,  we 
have  answered  in  these  few  words,  though  we  might  have  said 
many  more ;  which  are  so  true  that  they  themselves  (although 
they  are  liars)  do  not  venture  to  contradict  them." 

This  address  did  not  throw  much  light  upon  the 
subject,  and  left  the  Senate  in  as  much  difficulty  as 
if  it  had  been  an  English  Cabinet  Council  at  certain 
recent  periods  of  our  own  history.  ''Diverse  opin- 
ions and  various  decisions  were  agitated  among  the 
senators.  Some  declared  that  it  was  best  to  oppose 
in  open  war  the  forces  of  Philip,  who  would 
otherwise  deceive  them  with  fair  words  until  he  had 
overcome  the  Florentines.  Others  said  that  to  leap 
into  such  an  undertaking  would  be  mere  termerity, 
adding  that  it  was  an  easy  thing  to  begin  a  war  but 
difficult  to  end  it.'*  The  Senate  of  Venice  had, 
however,  another  pleader  at  hand,  whose  eloquence 
was  more   convincing.      When  they  had   confused 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  233 

themselves  with  arguments  for  and  against,  the 
doge,  whose  views  were  warlike,  called  for  Car- 
magnola,  who  had  been  waiting  in  unaccustomed 
inaction  to  know  what  v/as  to  happen  to  him.  All 
his  wrongs  had  been  revived  by  an  attempt  made  to 
poison  him  in  his  retreat  at  Treviso  by  a  Milanese 
exile  who  was  sheltered  there,  and  who  hoped  by 
this  good  deed  to  conciliate  Philip  and  purchase  his 
recall — a  man  who,  like  Carmagnola,  had  married  a 
Visconti,  and  perhaps  had  some  private  family 
hatred  to  quicken  his  patriotic  zeal.  The  attempt 
had  been  unsuccessful,  and  the  would-be  assassin  had 
paid  for  it  by  his  lite.  But  the  result  had  been  to 
light  into  wilder  flame  then  ever  the  fire  of  wrong 
in  the  fierce  heart  of  the  great  captain,  whose  love 
had  been  turned  into  hatred  by  the  ingratitude  of 
his  former  masters  and  friends.  He  appeared 
before  the  wavering  statesmen,  who,  between  their 
ducats  and  their  danger,  could  not  come  to  any 
decision,  flaming  with  wrath  and  energy.  ''Being 
of  a  haughty  nature,  tma  natura  sdegnosa,  he  spoke 
bitterly  against  Philip  and  his  ingratitude  and  per- 
fidity, "  describing  in  hot  words  his  own  struggles 
and  combats,  the  cities  he  had  brought  under 
Philip's  sway,  and  the  fame  he  had  procured  him, 
so  that  his  name  was  known  not  only  throughout  all 
Italy,  but  even  through  Europe,  as  the  master  of 
Genoa.  The  rewards  which  Carmagnola  had 
received,  he  declared  proudly,  were  not  rewards, 
but  his  just  hire  and  no  more.  And  now  qitell' 
ingrato,  whom  he  had  served  so  well,  had  not  only 
wounded  his  heart  and  his  good  name,  for  the  sake 
of  a  set  of  lying  youths,  —giovattotti  dishonestissimi, 
— and  forced  him  into  exile,  but  finally  had  at- 
tempted to  kill  him.  But  yet  he  had  not  been  with- 
out good  fortune,  in  that  he  was  preserved  from  this 
peril;  and  though  he  had  lost  the  country  in  which 
he  had  left  wife  and  children  and  much  wealth,  yet 
had  he  found  another  country  where  were  justice, 
bounty,  and  every  virtue — where  every  man  got  his 


234  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

due,  and  place  and  dignity  were  not  given  to  vil- 
lains! After  this  outburst  of  personal  feeling, 
Carmagnola  entered  fully  into  the  weightier  parts 
of  the  matter,  giving  the  eager  senators  to  under- 
stand that  Philip  was  not  so  strong  as  he  seemed; 
that  his  money  was  exhausted,  his  citizens  impov- 
erished, his  soldiers  in  arrears;  that  he  himself, 
Carmagnola,  had  been  the  real  cause  of  most  of  his 
triumphs;  and  that  with  his  guidance  and  knowl- 
edge the  Florentines  themselves  were  stronger 
than  Philip,  the  Venetians  much  stronger.  He 
ended  by  declaring  himself  and  all  his  powers  at 
their  service,  promising  not  only  to  conquer  Philip, 
but  to  increase  the  territory  of  the  Venetians. 
Greater  commanders  they  might  have;  and  names 
more  honored,  but  none  of  better  faith  toward  Ven- 
ice, or  of  greater  hatred  toward  the  enemy. 

Carmagnola's  speech  is  not  given  in  the  first  per- 
son like  the  others.  By  the  time  the  narrative  was 
written  his  tragic  history  was  over,  and  the  enthus- 
iasm with  which  he  was  first  received  had  become  a 
thing  to  be  lightly  dwelt  upon,  where  it  could  not 
be  ignored  altogether;  but  it  is  easy  to  see  the  furi- 
ous and  strong  personal  feeling  of  the  man,  injured 
and  longing  for  revenge,  his  heart  torn  with  the  ser- 
pent's tooth  of  ingratitude,  the  bitterness  of  love 
turned  into  hate.  So  strong  was  the  impression 
made  by  these  hoarse  and  thrilling  accents  of  reality 
that  the  doubters  were  moved  to  certainty,  and 
almost  all  pronounced  for  war.  At  the  risk  of  over 
prolonging  this  report  of  the  Venetian  Cabinet  coim- 
cil  and  its  proceedings,  we  are  tempted  to  quote  a 
portion  of  the  speech  of  the  doge,  in  which  the 
reader  will  scarcely  fail  to  see  on  the  contrary  side 
some  reflection  or  recollection  of  old  Mocenigo's 
argument  which  had  been  launched  at  his  succes' 
sor's  head  only  a  few  years  before. 

"There  are  two  things  in  a  republic,  noble  fathers,  which 
by  uarae  and  effect  are  sweet  and  gentle,  but  which  are  often 
the  occasion  of  much  trouble  to  the  great  and  noble  city — 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  285 

these  are  peace  and  economy.  For  there  are  dangers  both  dis- 
tant and  under  our  eyes,  which  either  we  do  not  see,  or  seeing 
them,  being  too  much  devoted  to  saving  money,  or  to  peace, 
esteem  them  little,  so  that  almost  always  we  are  drawn  into 
very  evident  peril  before  we  will  consider  the  appalling  name 
of  war,  or  come  to  manifest  harm  to  avoid  the  odious  name  of 
expense.  This  fact,  by  which  much  harm  and  ruin  has  been 
done  in  our  times,  and  which  has  also  been  recorded  for  us  by 
our  predecessors,  is  now  set  before  us  in  an  example  not  less 
useful  than  clear  in  the  misfortunes  of  the  Florentine,  who, 
when  they  saw  the  power  of  Philip  increasing,  might  many 
times  have  restrained  it,  and  had  many  occasions  of  so  doing, 
but  would  not,  in  order  to  avoid  the  great  expense.  But  now 
it  has  come  to  pass  that  the  money  which  they  acquired  in 
peace  and  repose  must  be  spent  uselessly ;  and  what  is  more 
to  be  lamented,  they  can  neither  attain  peace,  save  at  the  cost 
of  their  freedom,  nor  put  an  end  to  their  expenditure.  I  say, 
then,  that  such  dangers  ought  to  be  considered,  and  being 
considered,  ought  to  be  provided  for  by  courage  and  counsel. 
To  guide  a  republic  is  like  guiding  a  ship  at  sea.  I  ask  if 
any  captain,  the  sea  being  quiet  and  the  wind  favorable, 
ceases  to  steer  the  ship,  or  gives  himself  up  to  sleep  and  repose 
without  thinking  of  the  dangers  that  may  arise;  without  keep- 
ing in  order  the  sails,  the  masts,  the  cordage,  or  taking  into 
consideration  the  sudden  changes  to  which  the  sea  is  subject; 
the  season  of  the  year ;  by  what  wind  and  in  what  part  of  the 
sea  lies  his  course ;  what  depth  of  water  and  what  rocks  his 
vessel  may  encounter?  If  these  precautions  are  neglected, 
and  he  is  assailed  by  sudden  misfortune,  does  he  not  deserve 
to  lose  his  ship,  and  with  it  everything?  A  similar  misfortune 
has  happened  to  the  Florentines,  as  it  must  happen  to  others 
who  do  not  take  precautions  against  future  dangers  to  the 
republic.  The  Florentines  (not  to  have  recourse  to  another 
example)  might  have  repressed  and  overcome  the  power  of 
Philip  when  it  was  growing,  if  they  had  taken  the  trouble  to 
use  their  opportunities.  But  by  negligence,  or  rather  by 
avarice,  they  refrained  from  doing  so.  And  now  it  has  come 
about  that,  beaten  in  war,  with  the  loss  of  their  forces,  they 
are  in  danger  of  losing  their  liberty.  And  to  make  it  worse, 
they  are  condemned  everywhere,  and  instead  of  being  called 
industrious  are  called  vile,  and  held  in  good  repute  by  none; 
instead  of  prudent  are  called  fools;  and  instead  of  getting 
credit  for  their  wariness  are  esteemed  to  be  without  intelli- 
gence. These  evils,  therefore,  ought  to  be  provided  against 
when  far  off,  which,  when  near,  can  cause  such  serious  evil." 

Words  so  plain  and  honest,  and  which  are  so  ger- 
mane to  the  matter,  come  to  us  strangely  from  -un- 
der the  gilded  roofs  of  the  ducal  palace,  and  from 


236  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

the  midst  of  the  romance  and  glory  of  mediaeval 
Venice.  But  Venice  was  the  nation  of  shopkeepers 
in  those  days  which  England  is  said  to  be  now,  and 
was  subject  to  many  of  the  same  dangers  which 
menace  ourselves — though  wrath  was  more  prompt, 
and  the  balance  of  well-being  swayed  more  swiftly, 
both  toward  downfall  and  recovery,  than  is  possible 
in  our  larger  concerns. 

"The  energetic  speech  and  great  influence  of  the 
doge,  which  was  greater  than  that  of  any  prince 
before  him,"  says  the  chronicler  (alas!  though,  this 
was  that  same  Francesco  Foscari  who  died  in  down- 
fall and  misery,  deposed  from  his  high  place),  set- 
tled the  matter.  The  league  was  made  with  the 
Florentines,  war  declared  against  the  Duke  of 
Milan,  and  Carmagnola  appointed  general  of  the 
forces.  The  Senate  sent  messengers,  we  are  told, 
through  all  Italy  to  seek  recruits,  but  in  the  mean- 
time set  in  movement  those  who  were  ready;  while 
Carmagnola,  like  a  valorous  captain,  began  to  con- 
trive how  he  could  begin  the  war  with  some  great 
deed.  It  does  not  quite  accord  with  our  ideas  that 
the  first  great  deed  which  he  planned  was  to  secure 
the  assassination  of  the  Governor  of  Brescia  and 
betrayal  of  that  city,  which  is  the  account  given  by 
Sabellico.  Bigli,  however,  puts  the  matter  in  a 
better  light,  explaining  that  many  in  the  city  were 
inclined  to  follow  Carmagnola,  who  had  once  already 
conquered  the  town  for  Philip,  who  had  always 
maintained  their  cause  in  Milan,  and  whose  wrongs 
had  thus  doubly  attracted  their  sympathy.  The 
city  was  asleep  and  all  was  still  when,  with  the  aid 
from  within  of  two  brothers,  htiofmni  di  anima 
gra?tde,  the  wall  was  breached,  and  Carmagnola  got 
possession  of  Brescia.  "It  was  about  midnight,  in 
the  month  of  March,  on  the  last  day  of  Lent,  which 
is  sacred  to  St.  Benedict,"  when  the  Venetian 
troops  marched  into  the  apparently  unsuspecting 
town.  The  scene  is  picturesque  in  the  highest  de- 
gree.    They  marched  into  the  Piazza,  the  center  of 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VEiNICE.  237 

all  city  life,  in  the  chill  and  darkness  of  the  spring 
night,  and  there,  with  sudden  blare  of  trumpets  and 
illumination  of  torches,  proclaimed  the  sovereignty 
of  Venice.  It  is  easy  to  imagine  the  sudden  panic, 
the  frightened  faces  at  the  windows,  the  glare  of 
the  wild  light  that  lit  up  the  palace  fronts  and 
showed  the  dark  mass  of  the  great  cathedral  rising 
black  and  silent  behind,  while  the  horses  pawed  the 
ringing  stones  of  the  pavement  and  the  armor  shone. 
The  historian  goes  on  to  say:  "Though  at  first 
dismayed  by  the  clang  of  the  trumpets  and  arm,  the 
inhabitants  as  soon  as  they  perceived  it  was  Carmag- 
nola,  remained  quiet  in  their  houses,  except  those 
who  rushed  forth  to  welcome  the  besiegers,  or  who 
had  private  relations  with  the  general.  No  move- 
ment was  made  from  the  many  fortified  places 
in  the  city."  The  transfer  from  one  suzerain  to 
another  was  a  matter  of  common  occurrence,  which 
perhaps  accounts  for  the  ease  and  composure  with 
which  it  was  accomplished.  This  first  victory,  how- 
ever, was  but  a  part  of  what  had  to  be  done.  The 
citadel,  high  above  on  the  crown  of  the  hill  which 
overlooks  the  city,  remained  for  some  time  uncon- 
scious of  what  had  taken  place  below.  Perhaps  the 
Venetian  trumpets  and  clang  of  the  soldiery 
scarcely  reached  the  airy  ramparts  above,  or  passed 
for  some  sudden  broil,  some  encounter  of  enemies 
in  the  streets,  such  as  were  of  nightly  occurrence. 
The  town  was  large,  and  rich,  and  populous  upon 
the  slopes  underneath,  surrounded  with  great  walls 
descending  to  the  plains — walls  "thicker  than  they 
were  high,"  with  fortifications  at  every  gate;  and 
was  divided  into  the  old  and  new  city,  the  first  of 
these  only  being  in  Carmagnola's  hands.  It  seems 
a  doubtful  advantage  to  have  thus  penetrated  into 
the  streets  of  a  town  while  a  great  portion  of  its 
surrounding  fortifications  and  the  citadel  above 
were  still  in  other  hands;  but  the  warfare  of  those 
times  had  other  laws  than  those  with  which  we  are 
acquainted.       The  fact  that  these  famous  fortifica- 


238  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

tions  were  of  little  use  in  checking  the  attack  is  de- 
voutly explained  by  Bigli  as  a  proof  that  God  v/as 
against  them — "because  they  were  erected  with 
almost  unbearable  expense  and  toil,"  "the  very 
blood  of  the  Brescians  constrained  by  their  former 
conqueror  to  accomplish  this  work,  which  was  mar- 
velous, no  man  at  that  time  having  seen  the  like." 
The  Brescians  themselves,  he  tells  us,  were  always 
eager  for  change,  and  on  the  outlook  for  every  kind 
of  novelty,  so  that  there  was  nothing  remarkable  in 
their  quiet  acceptance  of,  and  even  satisfaction  in, 
the  new  sway.  The  reduction  of  the  citadel  was, 
however,  a  long  and  desperate  task.  The  means 
employed  by  Carmagnola  for  this  end  are  a  little 
difficult  to  follow,  at  least  for  a  lay  reader.  He 
seems  to  have  surrounded  the  castle  with  an  elabo- 
rate double  work  of  trenches  and  palisades,  with 
wooden  towers  at  intervals;  and  wearing  out  the 
defenders  by  continued  assault,  as  well  as  shutting 
out  all  chances  of  supplies,  at  last,  after  long  vigiK 
ance  and  patience,  attained  his  end.  Brescia  fell 
finally  with  all  its  wealth  into  the  hands  of  the 
Venetians,  a  great  prize  worthy  the  trouble  and 
time  which  had  been  spent  upon  it — a  siege  of 
vseven  months  after  the  first  night  attack,  which  had 
seemed  so  easy. 

This  graveachievement accomplished,  Carmagnola 
secured  with  little  trouble  the  Brescian  territory; 
most  of  the  villages  and  castles  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, as  far  as  the  Lago  di  Garda,  giving  them- 
selves up  to  the  conqueror  without  waiting  for  any 
assault  of  arms.  The  tide  of  ill  fortune  seems  to 
have  been  too  much  for  Philip;  and,  by  the  good 
offices  of  the  Pope's  legate,  a  temporary  peace  was 
made — at  the  cost,  to  the  Duke,  of  Brescia,  with  all 
its  territory,  and  various  smaller  towns  and  vil- 
lages, together  with  a  portion  of  the  district  of 
Cremona  on  the  other  bank  of  the  Oglio,  altogether 
nearly  forty  miles  in  extent.  Philip,  as  may  be 
supposed,  was  furious  at  his  losses—  now  accusing 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  239 

the  bad  faith  of  the  Florentines,  who  had  begun 
the  war;  now  the  avarice  of  the  Venetians,  who 
were  not  content  with  having  taken  Brescia,  but 
would  have  Cremona  too.  The  well-meant  exer- 
tions of  the  legate,  however,  were  of  so  little  effect 
that  before  his  own  departure  he  saw  the  magis- 
trates sent  by  the  Venetians  to  take  possession  of 
their  new  property  on  the  Cremona  side  driven  out 
with  insults,  and  Philip  ready  to  take  arms  again. 
The  cause  of  this  new  courage  was  to  be  found  in 
the  action  of  the  people  of  Milan,  who,  stung  in 
their  pride  by  the  national  downfall,  drew  their 
purse-strings  andcame  to  their  prince's  aid,  offering 
both  men  and  money  on  condition  that  Philip  would 
give  up  to  them  the  dues  of  the  city,  so  that  they 
might  reimburse  themselves.  Thus  the  wary  and 
subtle  Italian  burghers  combined  daring  with  pru- 
dence, and  secured  a  great  municipal  advantage, 
while  imdertaking  a  patriotic  duty. 

It  would  be  hopeless  to  follow  the  course  of  this 
long-continued,  often-interrupted 'war.  On  either 
side  there  was  a  crowd  of  captains — many  Italians, 
men  of  high  birth  and  great  possessions,  others 
sprung  from  the  people  like  Carmagnola;  a  certain 
John  the  Englishman,  with  a  hundred  followers, 
figured  in  the  special  following  of  the  commander, 
like  William  the  Cock  in  the  train  of  Zeno.  The 
great  battles  which  bulk  so  largely  in  writing,  the 
names  and  numbers  of  which  contuse  the  reader 
who  attempts  to  follow  the  entanglements  of  alli- 
ances and  treacheries  which  fill  the  chronicle,  were 
in  most  cases  almost  bloodless,  and  the  prisoners 
who  were  taken  by  the  victors  were  released  imme- 
diately, '^according  to  the  usage  of  war,"  in  order 
that  they  might  live  to  fight  another  day,  and  so 
prolong  and  extend  the  profitable  and  not  too  labo- 
rious occupation  of  soldiering.  Such  seems  to  have 
been  the  rule  of  these  endless  combats.  The  men- 
at-arms  in  their  complete  mail  were  very  nearly 
invulnerable.      They  might  roll  off  their  horses  and 


240  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

be  stifled  in  their  own  helmets,  or,  at  close  quar- 
ters, an  indiscreet  ax  might  hew  through  the  steel 
or  an  arrow  find  a  crevice  in  the  armor ;  but  such 
accidents  were  quite  unusual,  and  the  bloodless  bat- 
tle was  a  sort  of  game  which  one  general  played 
against  another,  in  ever  renewed  and  changing 
combinations.  The  danger  that  the  different  bands 
might  quarrel  among  themselves,  and  divided  coun- 
sels prevail,  was  perhaps  greater  than  any  other  in 
the  composition  of  these  armies.  In  Philip's  host, 
when  the  second  campaign  began,  this  evil  was 
apparent.  Half  a  dozen  captains  of  more  or  less 
equal  pretensions  claimed  the  command,  and  the 
wranglings  of  the  council  of  war  were  not  less  than 
those  of  a  village  municipality.  On  the  other  hand, 
Carmagnola,  in  his  rustic  haughtiness,  conscious  of 
being  the  better  yet  the  inferior  of  all  round  him, 
his  anima  sdegnosa  stoutly  contemptuous  of  all  lesser 
claims,  kept  perfect  harmony  in  his  camp,  though 
the  names  of  Gonzaga  and  Sforza  are  to  be  found 
among  his  officers.  Even  the  Venetian  commission- 
ers yielded  to  his  influence,  Bigli  says,  with  awe- 
though  he  hid  his  irpn  hand  in  no  glove,  but  ruled 
his  army  with  the  arrogance  which  had  been  his 
characteristic  from  youth  up.  Already,  how- 
ever, there  were  suspicions  and  doubts  of  the  great 
general  rising  in  the  minds  of  those  who  were  his 
masters.  He  had  asked  permission  more  than 
once,  even  during  the  siege  of  Brescia,  to  retire  to 
certain  baths,  pleading  ill  health;  a  plea  which  it  is 
evident  the  Signoria  found  it  difficult  to  believe, 
and  which  raised  much  scornful  comment  and  criti- 
cism in  Venice.  These  Carmagnola  heard  of,  and 
in  great  indignation  complained  to  the  Signoria; 
which,  however,  so  far  from  supporting  the  vulgar 
plaints,  sent  a  special  commissioner  to  assure  him 
of  their  complete  trust  and  admiration. 

The  great  battle  ot  Maclodio  or  Macalo  was  the 
chief  feature  in  Carmagnola's  second  campaign. 
This^  place  was  surrounded  by  marshes,  the  paths 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  241 

across  which  were  tortuous  and  difficult  to  find, 
covered  with  treacherous  herbage  and  tufts  of  wood. 
Carmagnola's  purpose  was  to  draw  the  Milanese 
army  after  him,  and  bring  on  a  battle,  if  possible, 
on  this  impracticable  ground,  which  his  own  army 
had  thoroughly  explored  and  understood.  Almost 
against  hope  his  opponents  fell  into  the  snare,  not- 
withstanding the  opposition  of  the  older  and  more 
experienced  captains,  who  divined  their  old  com- 
rade's strategy.  Unfortunately,  however,  for  the 
Milanese,  Philip  had  put  a  young  Malatesta,  incom- 
petent and  headstrong,  whose  chief  recommendation 
was  his  noble  blood,  at  the  head  of  the  old  officers, 
by  way  of  putting  a  stop  to  their  rivalries.  When 
the  new  general  decided  upon  attacking  the  Vene- 
tians, his  better  instructed  subordinates  protested 
earnestly.  *'We  overthrow  Philip  to-day,"  cried 
Torelli,  one  of  the  chiefs.  "For  either  I  know  noth- 
ing of  war,  or  this  road  leads  us  headlong  to  destruc- 
tion; but  that  no  one  may  say  I  shrink  from 
panger,  I  put  my  foot  first  into  the  snare. "  So  say- 
ing, he  led  the  way  into  the  marsh,  but  with  every 
precaution,  pointing  out  to  his  men  the  traps  laid 
tor  them,  and,  having  the  good  fortune  to  hit  upon 
one  of  the  solid  lines  of  path,  escaped  with  his  son  and 
a  few  of  his  immediate  followers.  Piccinino,  another 
of  the  leaders,  directed  his  men  to  turn  their  pikes 
against  either  friend  or  foe  who  stopped  the  way, 
and  managed  to  cut  his  way  out  w4th  a  few  of  his 
men ;  but  the  bulk  of  the  army  fell  headlong  into 
the  snare;  the  general,  Malatesta,  was  take  almost 
immediately,  and  the  floundering  troops  surrounded 
and  taken  prisoners  in  battalions. 

Sabellico  talks  of  much  bloodshed,  but  it  would 
seem  to  have  been  the  innocent  blood  of  horses  that 
alone  was  shed  in  this  great  battle. 

Nearly  five  thousand  horsemen  and  a  similar  number  ot 
toot-soldiers,  were  taken — there  was  no  slaughter  [says 
Bigli];  the  troops  thus  hemmed  in,  rather  than  be  slain, 
yielded  themselves  prisoners.      Those  who  were  there  affirm 

18  Venice 


242  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

that  they  heard  of  no  one  being  killed,  extraordinary  to  relate, 
though  it  was  a  great  battle.  Philip's  army  was  so  com- 
pletely equipped  in  armor  that  no  small  blow  was  needed  to 
injure  them;  nor  is  there  any  man  who  can  record  what  could 
be  called  a  slaughter  of  armed  men  in  Italy,  though  the 
slaughter  of  horses  was  incredible.  This  disaster  was  great 
and  memorable  [he  adds]  for  Philip — so  much  so  that  even  the 
conquerors  regretted  it,  having  compassion  on  the  perilous 
position  of  so  great  a  duke;  so  that  you  could  hear  murmur- 
ings  throughout  the  camp  of  the  Venetians  against  their  own 
victory. 

Were  it  not  that  the  bloodless  character  of  the 
combat  involves  a  certain  ridicule,  what  a  good 
thing  it  would  be  could  we  in  our  advanced  civiliza- 
tion carry  on  our  warfare  in  this  innocent  way,  and 
take  each  other  prisoners  with  polite  regret,  only 
to  let  each  other  go  to-morrow !  Such  a  process 
would  rob  a  battle  of  all  its  terrors;  and  if,  in  cer- 
tain eventualities,  it  were  understood  that  one  party 
must  accept  defeat,  how  delightful  to  secure  all  the 
pomp  and  circumstance  of  glorious  war  at  so  easy 
a  cost!  There  is  indeed  a  great  deal  to  be  said  in 
favor  of  this  way  ot  fighting. 

This  great  success  was,  however,  the  beginning 
of  Carmagnola's  evil  fortune.  It  is  said  that  he 
might,  had  he  followed  up  his  victory,  have  pushed 
on  to  the  walls  of  Milan  and  driven  Philip  from  his 
duchy.  But,  no  doubt,  this  would  have  been 
against  the  thrifty  practices  of  the  condottieri,  and 
the  usages  of  war.  He  returned  to  his  headquar- 
ters after  the  fight  without  any  pursuit,  and  all  the 
prisoners  were  set  free.  This  curious  custom  would 
seem  to  have  been  unknown  to  the  Venetian  com-, 
missioners,  and  struck  them  with  astonishment.  In. 
the  morning,  after  the  din  and  commotion  of  the» 
battle  were  over,  they  came  open-mouthed  to  the 
general's  tent  with  their  complaint.  The  prisoners 
had  in  great  part  been  discharged.  Was  Carmag- 
nola  aware  of  it?  ''What  then,"  cried  those  lay 
critics  with  much  reason,  **was  the  use  of  war? 
when  all  that  was  done  was  to  prolong  it  endlessly 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  243 

— the  fighting  men  escaping  without  a  wound,  and 
the  prisoners  going  back  to  their  old  quarters  in 
peace?"  Carmagnola,  ever  proud,  would  seem  to 
have  made  them  no  reply;  but  when  they  had  done 
he  sent  to  inquire  what  had  been  done  with  the 
prisoners,  as  it  this  unimportant  detail  was  un- 
known to  him.  He  was  answered  that  ahnost  all 
had  been  set  free  on  the  spot,  but  that  about  four 
hundred  still  remained  in  the  camp — their  captors 
probably  hoping  for  ransom.  '* Since  their  com- 
rades have  had  so  much  good  fortune,"  said  Car- 
magnola,  "by  the  kindness  of  my  men,  I  desire  that 
the  others  should  be  released  by  mine,  according 
to  the  custom  of  war."  Thus  the  haughty  general 
proved  how  much  regard  he  paid  to  the  remon- 
strances of  his  civilian  masters.  "From  this,"  says 
Sabellico,  "there  arose  great  suspicion  in  the  minds 
of  the  Venetians.  And  there  are  many  who  believe 
that  it  was  the  chief  occasion  of  his  death. "  But 
no  hint  was  given  of  these  suspicions  at  the  time; 
and  as  Carmagnola's  bloodless  victory  deeply  im- 
pressed the  surrounding  countries,  brought  all  the 
smaller  fortresses  and  castles  to  submission,  and, 
working  with  other  misfortunes,  led  back  Philip 
again  with  the  ever  convenient  legate  to  ask  for 
peace,  the  general  returned  with  glory  to  Venice, 
and  was  received  apparently  with  honor  and  de- 
light. But  the  little  rift  within  the  lute  was  never 
slow  of  appearing,  and  the  jealous  Signoria  feasted 
many  a  man  whom  they  suspected,  and  for  whom, 
under  their  smiles  and  plaudits,  they  were  already 
concocting  trouble.  The  curious  "usage  of  war," 
thus  discovered  by  the  Venetian  envoys,  is  frankly 
accounted  for  by  a  historian,  who  had  himself  been 
in  his  day  a  condottiere,  as  arising  from  the  fear  the 
soldiers  had,  if  the  war  finished  quickly,  that  the 
people  might  cry,  "Soldiers,  to  the  spade!" 

A  curious  evidence  of  how  human  expedients  are 
lost  and  come  round  into  use  again  by  means  of 
that  whirligig  of  time  which  makes  so  many  re  vol  u- 


244  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

tions,  is  to  be  found  in  Carmagnola's  invention  for 
the  defense  of  his  camp,  of  a  double  line  of  the 
country  carts  which  carried  his  provisions,  standing 
closely  tog-ether — with  three  archers,  one  authority 
says,  to  each.  Notwithstanding  what  seems  the 
very  easy  nature  of  his  victories,  and  the  large  use 
of  treachery,  it  is  evident  that  his  military  genius 
impressed  the  imagination  of  his  time  above  that  of 
any  of  his  competitors.  He  alone,  harsh  and 
haughty  as  he  was,  kept  his  forces  in  unity.  His 
greatness  silenced  the  feudal  lords,  who  could  not 
venture  to  combat  it,  and  he  had  the  art  of  com- 
mand, which  is  a  special  gift. 

The  peace  lasted  for  the  long  period  of  three 
years,  during  which  time  Carmagnola  lived  in  great 
state  and  honor  in  Venice,  in  a  palace  near  San 
Eustachio  which  had  been  bestowed  upon  him  by 
the  state.  His  wife  and  children  had  in  the  former 
interval  of  peace  been  restored  to  him,  and  all 
seemed  to  go  at  his  will.  A  modern  biographer 
(Lomonaco),  who  does  not  cite  any  authorities,  in- 
forms us  that  Carmagnola  was  never  at  home  in  his 
adopted  city, — that  he  telt  suspicions  and  unfriend- 
liness in  the  air, — and  that  the  keen  consciousness 
of  his  low  origin,  which  seems  to  have  set  a  sharp 
note  in  his  character,  was  more  than  ever  present 
with  him  here.  "He  specially  abhorred  the  liter- 
ary coteries,"  says  this  doubtful  authority,  "calling 
them  vain  as  women,  punctilious  as  boys,  lying  and 
feigning  like  slaves" — which  things  have  been 
heard  before,  and  are  scarcely  worth  putting  into 
the  fierce  lips  of  the  Piedmontese  soldier,  whose 
rough  accent  of  the  north  was  probably  laughed  at 
by  the  elegant  Venetians,  and  to  whom  their  con- 
stant pursuit  of  novelty,  their  mental  activity,  poli- 
tics, and  commotions  of  town  life,  were  very  likely 
nauseous  and  unprofitable.  He,  who  was  conver- 
sant with  more  primitive  means  of  action  than 
speeches  in  the  Senate,  or  even  the  discussions  of 
the  Consiglio  Maggiore,  might  well  chafe  at  so  much 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  245 

loss  of  time;  and  it  was  the  fate  of  a  general  of 
mercenaries,  who  had  little  personal  motive  beyond 
his  pay,  and  what  he  could  gain  by  his  services,  to 
be  distrusted  by  his  masters. 

The  occasion  of  the  third  war  is  sufficiently  difficult 
to  discover.  A  Venetian  cardinal — Gabrielle  Con- 
dulmero — had  been  made  Pope,  and  had  published  a 
btill,  admonishing  both  lords  and  people  to  keep 
the  peace,  as  he  intended  himself  to  inquire  into 
every  rising  and  regulate  the  affairs  of  Italy.  This 
declaration  alarmed  Philip  of  Milan,  to  whom  it 
seemed  inevitable  that  a  Venetian  Pope  should  be 
his  enemy  and  thus,  with  no  doubt  a  thousand 
secondary  considerations,  on  all  hands,  the  penin- 
sula was  once  more  set  on  fire.  When  it  became 
apparent  that  the  current  of  events  was  setting 
toward  war,  Carmagnola,  for  no  given  reason,  but 
perhaps  because  his  old  comrades  and  associates  had 
begun  to  exercise  a  renewed  attraction,  notwith- 
standing all  the  griefs  that  had  separated  him  from 
Philip,  wrote  to  the  Senate  of  Venice,  asking  to 
resign  his  appointments  in  their  service.  This, 
however,  the  alarmed  Signoria  would  by  no  means 
listen  to.  They  forced  upon  him  instead  the  com- 
mand in  general  of  all  their  forces,  with  one  thou- 
sand ducats  a  month  of  pay,  to  be  paid  both  in  war 
and  peace,  and  many  extraordinary  privileges.  It 
seems  even  to  have  been  contemplated  as  a  possi- 
ble thing  that  Milan  itself,  if  Philip's  powers  were 
entirely  crushed,  as  the  Venetians  hoped,  might  be 
bestowed  upon  Carmagnola  as  a  reward  for  the 
destruction  of  the  Visconti.  Nevertheless,  it  is 
evident  that  Carmagnola  had  by  this  time  begun  a 
correspondence  with  his  former  master,  and  received 
both  letters  and  messengers  from  Philip  while  con- 
ducting the  campaign  against  him.  And  that  cam- 
paign was  certainly  not  so  successful,  nor  was  it 
carried  on  with  the  energy  which  had  marked  his 
previous  enterprises.  He  was  defeated  before 
Soncino,  by  devices  of  a  similar  character  to  those 


246  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

which  he  had  himself  employed,  and  here  is  said  to 
have  lost  a  thousand  horses.  But  that  shedding  of 
innocent  blood  was  soon  forgotten  in  the  real  and 
terrible  disaster  which  followed. 

The  Venetians  had  fitted  out  no  only  a  land 
army,  but  what  ought  to  have  been  more  in  conso- 
nance with  their  habits  and  character,  an  expedi- 
tion by  sea  under  the  Admiral  Trevisano,  whose 
ships,  besides  their  crews,  are  said  to  have  carried 
ten  thousand  fighting  men,  for  the  apture  of 
Cremona.  The  fleet  went  up  the  Po  to  act  in  con- 
cert with  Carmagnola  in  his  operations  against  that 
city.  But  Philip,  on  his  side,  had  also  a  fleet  in 
the  Po,  though  inferior  to  the  Venetian,  under  the 
command  of  a  Genoese,  Grimaldi,  and  manned  in 
great  part  by  Genoese,  the  hereditary  opponents 
and  rivals  of  Venice.  The  two  generals  on  land, 
Sforza  and  Piccinino,  then  both  in  the  service  of 
Philip — men  whose  ingenuity  and  resource  had 
been  whetted  by  previous  defeats,  and  who  had  thus 
learned  Carmagnola's  tactics — amused  and  occupied 
him  by  threatening  his  camp,  which  was  as  yet  im- 
perfectly defended,  piutostoal  eggiamento  che  ripari: 
but  in  the  night  stole  away,  and  under  the  walls  of 
Cremona  were  received  in  darkness  and  silence  into 
Grimaldi 's  ships,  and  flung  themselves  upon  the 
Venetian  fleet.  These  vessels,  being  sea-going 
ships,  were  heavy  and  difficult  to  manage  in  the 
river — those  of  their  adversaries- being  apparently 
of  lighter  build;  and  Grimaldi's  boats  seem  to  have 
had  the  .advantage  of  the  current,  which  carried 
them  "very  swiftly"  against  the  Venetians,  who, 
in  the  doubtful  dawn,  were  astonished  by  the  sight 
of  the  glittering  armor  and  banners  bearing  down 
upon  them  with  all  the  impetus  of  the  great 
stream.  The  Venetian  admiral  sent  off  a  message 
to  warn  Carmagnola;  but  before  he  could  reach  the 
river  bank,  the  two  fleets,  in  a  disastrous  jumble, 
had  drifted  out  of  reach.  Carmagnola,  roused  at 
last,  arrived   too  late,  and  standing  on  the  shore, 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  247 

hot  with  ineffectual  haste,  spent  his  wrath  in 
shouts  of  encouragement  to  his  comrades,  and  in 
cries  of  rage  and  dismay  as  he  saw  the  tide  of  for- 
tune drifting  on,  carrying  the  ships  of  Philip  in  wild 
concussion  against  the  hapless  Venetians.  When 
things  became  desperate,  Trevisano,  the  admiral, 
got  to  shore  in  a  little  boat,  and  fled,  carrying  with 
him  the  treasure  of  sixty  thousand  gold  pieces, 
which  was  one  of  the  great  objects  of  the  attack. 
But  this  was  almost  all  that  was  saved  from  the 
rout.  Bigli  says  that  seventy  ships  were  taken,  of 
which  twenty- eight  were  ships  of  war;  but  in  this 
he  is  probably  mistaken,  as  he  had  himself  described 
the  fleet  as  one  of  thirty  ships.  "The  slaughter," 
he  adds,  "was  greater  than  any  that  was  ever 
known  in  Italy,  more  than  two  thousand  five  hun- 
dred men  being  said  to  have  perished,  in  witness  of 
which  the  Po  ran  red,  a  great  stream  of  blood,  for 
many  miles.  '*  A  few  ships  escaped  by  flight,  and 
many  fugitives,  no  doubt,  in  boats  and  by  the 
banks,  where  they  were  assailed  by  the  peasants, 
who,  taking  advantage  of  their  opportunity,  and 
with  many  a  wrong  to  revenge,  killed  a  large  num- 
ber. Such  a  disastrous  defeat  had  not  happened  to 
Venice  for  many  a  day. 

The  Venetian  historian  relates  that  Carmagnola 
received  the  warning  and  appeal  of  the  admiral 
with  contempt — "as  he  was  of  a- wrathful  nature, 
di  natura  iraconda — and  with  a  loud  voice  reproved 
the  error  of  the  Venetians,  who,  despising  his 
counsel,  refused  the  support  to  the  army  on  land 
which  they  had  given  to  their  naval  expedition ;  nor 
did  he  believe  what  the  messengers  told  him,  but 
said  scornfully  that  the  admiral  fearing  the  form  of 
an  armed  man,  had  dreamed  that  all  the  enemies  in 
their  boats  were  born  giants."  This  angry  speech, 
no  doubt,  added  to  the  keen  dissatisfaction  of  the 
Venetians  in  knowing  that  their  general  remained 
inactive  on  the  bank  while  their  ships  were  thus 
cut   to  pieces.      The  truth  probably   lies  between 


248  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

the  two  narratives,  as  so  often  happens;  for  Car- 
magnola  might  easily  express  his  hot  impatience 
with  the  authorities  who  had  refused  to  be  guided 
by  his  experience,  and  with  the  admiral  who  took 
the  first  unexpected  man  in  armor  for  a  giant, 
when  the  messengers  roused  him  with  their  note 
of  alarm  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  and  yet  have 
had  no  traitorous  purpose  in  his  delay.  He  himself 
took  the  defeat  profoundly  to  heart,  and  wrote  let- 
ters of  such  distress  excusing  himself,  that  the  sen- 
ators were  compelled  in  the  midst  of  their  own 
trouble  to  send  ambassadors  to  soothe  him — *'to 
mitigate  his  frenzy,  that  they  might  not  fall  into 
greater  evil,  and  to  keep  him  at  his  post" — with  as- 
surances that  they  held  him  free  of  blame.  It  is 
evident,  we  think,  that  the  whole  affair  had  been 
in  direct  opposition  to  his  advice,  and  that,  in- 
stead of  being  in  the  wrong,  he  felt  himself  able  to 
take  a  very  high  position  with  the  ill-advised  Sig- 
noria,  and  to  resent  the  catastrophe  which,  with 
greater  energy  on  his  part,  might  perhaps  have 
been  prevented  altogether.  The  Venetians 
avenged  the  disaster  by  sending  a  fleet  at  once  to 
Genoa,  where,  coursing  along  the  lovely  line  of  the 
eastern  Riviera,  they  caught  in  a  somewhat  similar 
way  the  Genoese  fleet,  and  annihilated  it.  But 
this  is  by  the  way. 

Carmagnola,  meanwhile,  lay,  like  Achilles,  sul- 
len in  his  tent.  Philip  himself  came  in  his  joy  and 
triumph  to  the  neighborhood,  but  could  not  tempt 
the'disgusted  general  to  more  than  a  languid  passage 
of  arms.  An  attempt  to  take  Cremona  by  surprise, 
made  by  one  of  his  officers,  a  certain  Caval- 
cabo,  or  as  some  say  by  Colleoni,  seemed  as  if  it 
might  have  been  crowned  with  success  had  the 
general  bestirred  himself  with  sufficient  energy — 
"if  Carmagnola  had  sent  more  troops  in  aid. "  As 
it  was,  the  expedition,  being  tmsupported,  had  to 
retire.  If  he  were  indeed  contemplating  treachery, 
it  is  evident  that  he  had  a  great  struggle  with  him- 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  249 

self,  and  was  incapable  of  changing  his  allegiance 
with  the  light-hearted  ease  of  many  of  his  contem- 
poraries. He  lay  thus  sullen  and  disheartened  in 
his  leaguer  even  when  spring  restored  the  means  of 
warfare,  and  though  his  old  enemy  Piccinino  was 
up  and  stirring,  picking  up  here  and  there  a  castle 
in  the  disturbed  precincts  of  the  Cremonese.  "The 
marvel  grew,"  cries  Sabellico,  "that  Carmagnola 
let  these  people  approach  him,  and  never  moved." 
The  Signoria,  in  the  meantime,  had  been  separ- 
ately and  silently  turning  over  many  thoughts  in 
their  mind  on  the  subject  of  this  general  who  was 
not  as  the  others,  who  would  not  be  commanded 
nor  yet  dismissed;  too  great  to  be  dispensed  with, 
too  troublesome  to  manage.  Ever  since  the  memor- 
able incidents  of  the  battle  of  Maclodio,  doubts  of 
his  good  faith  had  been  in  their  minds.  Why  did 
he  liberate  Philip's  soldiers,  if  he  really  wished  to 
overthrow  Philip?  It  was  Philip  himself— so  the 
commissioners  had  said  in  their  indignation — whom 
he  had  set  free ;  and  who  could  tell  that  the  treach- 
ery at  Soncinowas  not  of  his  contriving,  or  that  he 
had  not  stood  aloof  of  set  purpose  while  the  ships 
were  cut  in  pieces?  Besides,  was  it  not  certain  that 
many  a  Venetian  had  been  made  to  stand  aside 
while  this  northern  mountaineer,  this  rude  Pied- 
montese,  went  swaggering  through  the  streets, 
holding  the  noblest  at  arm's-length?  A  hundred 
hidden  vexations  came  up  when  some  one  at  last 
introduced  his  name,  and  suddenly  the  senators 
with  one  consent  burst  into  the  long-deferred  dis- 
cussion for  which  every  one  was  ready. 

There  were  not  a  few  [says  Sabellico]  who,  from  the  begin- 
ning, had  suspected  Carmagnola.  These  now  openly  in  the 
Senate  declared  that  this  suspicion  not  only  had  not  ceased 
but  increased,  and  was  increasing  every  day ;  and  that,  except 
his  title  of  commander,  they  knew  nothing  in  him  that  was 
not  hostile  to  the  Venetian  name.  The  others  would  not  be- 
lieve this,  nor  consent  to  hold  him  in  such  suspicion  until 
some  manifest  signs  of  his  treachery  were  placed  before 
them.      The  Senate  again  and  again  referred  to  the  Avoga- 


250  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

dori  the  question  whether  such  a  man  ought  to  be  retainsd  in 
the  public  service  or  whether,  if  convicted  of  treacher}',  he 
ought  to  be  put  to  capital  punishment.  This  deliberation, 
which  lasted  a  very  long  time,  ought  to  demonstrate  how 
secret  were  the  proceedings  of  the  Senate  when  the  affairs  of 
the  country  were  in  question,  and  how  profound  the  good 
faith  of  the  public  counsellors.  For  when  the  Senate  was 
called  together  for  this  object,  entering  into  counsel  at  the  first 
lighting  of  torches,  the  consultation  lasted  till  it  was  full  day. 
Carmagnola  himself  was  in  Venice  for  some  time  while  it  was 
proceeding,  and  going  one  morning  to  pay  his  respects  to  the 
doge,  he  met  him  coming  out  of  the  council  chamber  of  the 
palace,  and  with  much  cheerfulness  asked  whether  he  ought 
to  bid  him  good-morning  or  good-evening,  seeing  he  had  not 
slept  since  supper.  To  whom  that  prince  replied,  smiling, 
that  among  the  many  serious  matters  which  had  been  talked 
of  in  that  long  discussion,  nothing  had  been  oftener  men- 
tioned than  his  [Carmagnola' s]  name.  But  in  order  that  no 
suspicion  might  be  awakened  by  these  words,  he  immediately 
turned  the  conversation  to  other  subjects.  This  was  nearly 
eight  months  before  there  was  any  question  of  death ;  and  so 
secret  was  this  council,  holding  everything  in  firm  and  per- 
petual silence,  that  no  suggestion  of  their  suspicions  reached 
Carmagnola.  And  though  many  of  the  order  of  the  senators 
were  by  long  intimacy  his  friends,  and  many  of  them  poor, 
who  might  have  obtained  great  rewards,  from  Carmagnola 
had  they  betrayed  this  secret,  nevertheless  all  kept  it  faith- 
fully. 

There  is  something  grim  and  terrible  in  the  smil- 
ing reply  of  the  doge  to  the  man  whose  life  was 
being  played  for  between  these  secret  judges,  that 
his  name  had  been  one  of  those  which  came  often- 
est  uppermost  in  their  discussions.  With  what  eyes 
must  the  splendid  Venetian  in  his  robes  of  state, 
pale  with  the  night's  watching,  have  looked  at  the 
soldier,  erect  and  cheerful,  con  jroiiteijiolto  allegra^ 
who  came  across  the  great  court  to  meet  him  in  the 
first  light  of  the  morning,  which,  after  the  dimness 
of  the  council  chamber  and  its  dying  torches,  would 
dazzle  the  watcher's  eyes?  The  other  red-robed 
figures,  dispersing  like  so  many  ghosts,  pale-eyed 
before  the  day,  did  they  glance  at  each  other  with 
looks  of  baleful  meaning  as  the  unsuspicious  gen- 
eral passed  with  many  salutations  and  friendly 
words   and    greeting — "Shall    it  be  good-even   or 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  251 

good-morrow,  illustrious  gentlemen,  who  watch  for 
Venice  while  the  rest  of  the  world  sleeps?"  Would 
there  be  grace  enough  among  the  secret  councillors 
to  hurry  their  steps  as  they  passed  him,  or  was 
there  a  secret  enjoyment  in  Foscari's  double  entendre 
— in  that  fatal  smile  with  which  he  met  the  victim? 
The  great  court  which  has  witnessed  so  much  has 
rarely  seen  a  stranger  scene. 

At  what  time  this  curious  encounter  can  have  hap- 
pened it  is  difficult  to  teU — perhaps  on  the  occasion 
of  some  flying  visit  to  his  family,  which  Carmag- 
nola  may  have  paid  after  laying  up  his  army  in 
winter  quarters,  after  the  fashion  of  the  time.  The 
Signoria  had  sent  messengers  to  remonstrate  with 
him  upon  his  inaction  to  no  avail;  and  thaj:  he  still 
lingered  in  camp,  doing  little  or  nothing,  added  a 
sort  of  exasperation  to  the  impatience  of  the  city, 
and  gave  their  rulers  a  justification  for  what  they 
were  about  to  do.  The  Venetian  senators  had  no 
thought  of  leaving  their  general  free  to  carry  over 
to  Philip  the  help  of  his  great  name  in  case  of  an- 
other war.  Carmagnola's  sword  thrown  suddenly 
into  the  balance  of  power,  which  was  so  critical  in 
Italy,  might  have  swayed  it  in  almost  any  conceiv- 
able direction— and  this  was  a  risk  not  to  be  lightly 
encountered.  Had  he  shaken  the  dust  from  his 
feet  at  Mestre,  and,  instead  of  embarking  upon  the 
lagoon,  turned  his  horse  round  upon  the  beach  and 
galloped  off,  as  he  had  done  from  Philip's  castle,  to 
some  other  camp — the  Florentines,  perhaps,  or  his 
own  native  Duke  Amadeo  of  Savoy — what  revolu- 
tions might  happen?  He  had  done  it  once,  but  the 
magnificent  Signoria  were  determined  that  he 
should  not  do  it  again.  Therefore  the  blow,  when 
finally  resolved  upon,  had  to  be  sharp  and  sudden, 
allowing  no  time  for  thought.  Thanks  to  that  force 
of  secrecy  of  which  the  historian  brags,  Carmag- 
nola  had  no  thought  of  any  harm  intended  to  him. 
He  thought  himself  the  master  of  the  situation — he 
to  whom  only  a  year  before  the  rulers  of  Venice 


252  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

had  sent  a  deputation  to  soothe  and  caress  their 
general,  lest  he  should  throw  up  his  post.  Accord- 
ingly, when  he  received  the  fatal  message  to  return 
to  Venice  in  order  to  give  his  good  masters  advice 
as  to  the  state  of  affairs,  he  seems  to  have  been 
without  suspicion  as  to  what  was  intended.  He 
set  out  at  once,  accompanied  by  one  of  his  lieuten- 
ants, Gonzaga,  the  lord  of  Mantua,  who  had  also 
been  summoned  to  advise  the  Signoria,  and  rode 
along  the  green  Lombard  plains  in  all  the  brilliancy 
of  their  spring  verdure,  received  wherever  he 
halted  with  honor  and  welcome.  When  he  reached 
the  Brenta  he  took  boat;  and  his  voyage  down  the 
slow-flowing  stream,  which  had  been  always  so  dear 
to  the  Venetians,  was  like  a  royal  progress.  The 
banks  of  the  Brenta  bore  then,  as  now,  long  lines 
of  villas,  inhabited  by  all  that  was  finest  in  Venice ; 
and  such  of  the  noble  inhabitants  as  were  already 
in  villegiatura^  ''according  to  their  habit,"  Sabellico 
says,  received  him,  as  he  passed,  co7i  molio  festa. 
And  so  he  went  to  his  fate.  At  Mestre,  he  was 
met  by  an  escort  of  eight  gentlemen  from  Venice — 
those,  no  doubt,  to  whom  the  historian  refers  as 
bound  to  him  by  long  intimacy,  who  yet  never 
breathed  to  him  a  word  of  warning.  With  this 
escort  he  crossed  the  lagoon,  the  towers  and  lofty 
roofs  of  Venice  rising  from  out  the  rounded  line  of 
sea;  his  second  home,  the  country  of  which  he  had 
boasted,  where  every  man  received  his  due. 

How  did  they  talk  with  him,  those  silken  citizens 
who  knew  but  would  not  by  a  look  betray  whither 
they  were  leading  their  noble  friend?  Would  they 
tell  him  the  news  of  the  city:  what  was  thought  of 
the  coming  peace;  what  intrigues  were  afloat; 
where  Trevisano,  the  unliicky  admiral,  had  gone  to 
hide  his  head  in  his  banishment?  or  would  the  con- 
versation flow  on  the  last  great  public  show,  or 
some  rare  conceit  in  verse,  or  the  fine  fleet  that  fol- 
lowed the  Buceiitoro  when  last  the  Serenest  Prince 
took  the  air  upon  the  lagoon?     But  Carmagnola  was 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  353 

not  lettered,  nor  a  courtier,  so  that  such  subjects 
would  have  little  charm  for  him.  When  the  boats 
swept  past  San  Stai,  would  not  a  waving  scarf  from 
some  balcony  show  that  his  wife  and  young 
daughter  had  come  out  to  see  him  pass,  though 
well  aware  that  the  business  of  the  Signorfa  went 
before  any  indulgence  at  home?  Or  perhaps  he 
came  not  by  Canereggio  but  up  the  Giudecca,  with 
the  wind  and  spray  from  the  sea  blowing  in  his  face 
as  he  approached  the  center  of  Venetian  life.  He 
was  led  by  his  courtier-attendants  to  the  Palace 
direct — the  senators  having,  as  would  seem,  urgent 
need  of  his  counsel.  As  he  entered  the  fatal  doors, 
those  complacent  friends,  to  save  him  any  trouble, 
turned  back  and  dismissed  the  retainers,  without 
whom  a  gentleman  never  stirred  abroad,  informing 
them  that  their  master  had  much  to  say  to  the  doge, 
and  might  be  long  detained. 

Here  romance  comes  in  with  unnecessary  aggra- 
vations of  the  tragic  tale;  relating  how,  not  finding 
the  doge,  as  he  had  expected,  awaiting  him,  Car- 
magnola  turned  to  go  to  his  own  house,  but  was 
stopped  by  his  false  friends,  and  led,  on  pretense  of 
being  shown  the  nearest  exit,  another  gloomy  way 
— a  way  that  led  through  bewildering  passages  into 
the  prisons.  No  sentimental  Bridge  of  Sighs  existed 
in  these  days.  But  when  the  door  of  the  strong- 
room which  was  to  be  his  home  for  the  rest  of  his 
mortal  life  was  opened,  and  the  lively  voices  of  his 
conductors  sank  in  the  shock  of  surprise  and  horror, 
and  all  that  was  about  to  be  rushed  on  Carmag- 
nola's  mind,  the  situation  is  one  which  requires  no 
aid  of  dramatic  art.  Here,  in  a  moment,  betrayed 
out  of  the  air  and  light,  and  the  freedom  which  he 
had  used  so  proudly,  this  man,  who  had  never  feared 
the  face  of  men,  must  have  realized  his  fate.  At  the 
head  of  a  great  army  one  day,  a  friendless  prisoner 
the  next,  well  aware  that  the  light  of  day  would 
never  clear  up  the  proceedings  against  him,  or  com- 
mon justice,    such    as    awaits  a  poor    picker  and 


254  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

Stealer,  stand  between  him  and  the  judges  whos^ 
sentence  was  a  foregone  conclusion.  Let  us  hope 
that  those  intimates  who  had  accompanied  him  thus 
far  slunk  away  in  confusion  and  shame  from  the 
look  of  the  captive.  So  much  evil  as  Carmagnola 
had  done  in  his  life — and  there  is  no  reason  to  sup- 
pose, and  not  a  word  to  make  us  believe,  that  he 
was  a  sanguinary  conqueror,  or  abused  the  position 
he  held — must  have  been  well  atoned  by  that  first 
moment  of  enlightenment  and  despair. 

During  the  thirty  days  that  followed  little  light  is 
thrown  upon  Carmagnola's  dungeon.  He  is  swal- 
lowed up  in  the  darkness,  ''examined  by  torture 
before  the  Secret  Council,"  a  phrase  that  chills 
one's  blood— until  they  had  the  evidence  they  want, 
and  full  confirmation  in  the  groans  of  the  half-con- 
scious sufferer  of  all  imagined  or  concocted  accusa- 
tions. Sabellico  asserts  that  the  proof  against  him 
was  "in  letters  which  he  could  not  deny  were  in  his 
own  hand,  and  by  domestic  testimony,"  whatever 
that  may  mean;  and  does  not  mention  the  torture. 
It  is  remarkable  that  Romanin,  while  believing  all 
this,  is  unable  to  prove  it  by  any  document,  and  can 
only  repeat  what  the  older  and  vaguer  chronicler 
says.  "The  points  of  the  accusation  were  these, " 
Sabellico  adds:  "succor  refused  to  Trevisano,  and 
Cremona  saved  to  Philip  by  his  treacherous  absti- 
nence. "  The  fact,  however,  is  more  simply  stated 
by  Navagero  before  the  trial,  that  "the  Signoria 
were  bent  on  freeing  themselves"  from  a  general 
who  had  apparently  ceased  to  be  always  victorious 
— after  the  excellent  habit  of  republics,  which  was 
to  cut  off  the  head  of  every  unsuccessful  leader — ■ 
thus  effectually  preventing  further  failure,  on  his 
part  at  least. 

Carmagnola  was  not  a  man  of  words.  Yet  he 
might  have  launched  with  his  dying  breath  some  ring- 
ing defiance  to  catch  the  echoes,  and  leave  in, Vene- 
tian ears  a  recollection,  a  watchword  of  rebellion  to 
come.      The  remorseless  council   thought  of  this, 


THE  MAKERS  OF  V£:NIC£,  255 

with  the  vigilance  and  subtle  genius  which  inspired 
all  the  proceedings  of  their  secret  conclave;  and 
when  the  May  morning  dawned  which  was  to  be 
his  last,  a  crowning  indignity  was  added  to  his 
doom.  He  was  led  out  con  uno  sbadocchio  in  bocca^ 
gagged,  "in  order  that  he  might  not  speak,"  to  the 
Piazzetta,  now  so  cheerful  and  so  gay,  which  then 
had  the  most  dreadful  associations  of  any  in  Venice. 
"Between  the  columns,"  the  blue  lagoon,  with  all 
its  wavelets  flinging  upward  countless  gleams  of 
reflection  in  the  early  sun;  the  rich-hued  sails  stand- 
ing out  against  the  blue;  the  great  barges  coming 
serenely  in,  as  now,  with  all  their  many-colored 
stores  from  the  Lido  farms  and  fields — the  gondolas 
crowding  to  the  edge  of  the  fatal  pavement,  the 
populace  rushing  from  behind.  No  doubt  the  win- 
dows of  the  ducal  palace,  or  so  much  of  the  galleries 
as  were  then  in  existence,  were  crowded  with 
spectators  too.  Silent,  carrying  his  head  high,  like 
him  of  whom  Dante  writes  who  held  great  Hell 
itself  in  despite — sdegnoso  — even  of  that  gag  be- 
tween his  lips, — the  great  soldier,  the  general  whose 
praises  had  rung  through  Venice,  and  whose 
haughty  looks  had  been  so  familiar  in  the  streets, 
was  led  forth  to  his  death.  By  that  strong  argu- 
ment of  the  ax,  unanswerable,  incontestable,  the 
Signoria  managed  to  liberarsi  of  many  an  inconven- 
ient servant  and  officer,  either  unsuccessful  or  too 
fortunate.  Carmagnola  had  both  of  these  faults. 
He  was  too  great,  and  for  once  he  had  failed.  The 
people  called  *'5z'^;z/^r^z.^  SventuraT'  "Misfortune! 
Misfortune!"  in  their  dark  masses,  as  they  strug- 
gled to  see  the  wonderful  sight.  Their  sympathies 
could  scarcely  be  against  the  victim  on  that  day  of 
retribution;  and  perhaps,  had  his  voice  been  free  to 
speak  to  them,  they  might  have  thought  of  other 
things  to  shout,  which  the  Signoria  had  been  less 
content  to  hear. 

Thus   ended    the    great   Carmagnola,    the    most 
famous  of  all  Italian  soldiers  of  fortune.     Over  one 


S56  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

of  the  doors  of  the  noble  church  of  the  Frari  there 
has  hung  for  generations  a  coffin  covered  with  a 
pall,  in  which  it  was  long  supposed  that  his  bones 
had  been  placed,  suspended  between  heaven  and 
earth  per  i  famia,  as  a  romantic  Custode  says.  This, 
however,  is  one  of  the  fables  of  tradition.  He  was 
buried  in  San  Francisco  delle  Vigne  (not  the  present 
church),  whence  at  a  later  period  his  remains  were 
transferred  to  Milan.  His  wife  and  daughter,  or 
daughters,  were  banished  to  Treviso  with  a  modest 
pension,  yet  a  penalty  of  death  registered  against 
them  should  they  break  bounds — so  determined,  it 
is  evident,  were  the  Signoria  to  leave  no  means  by 
which  the  general  could  be  avenged.  And  what 
became  of  those  poor  women  is  unknown.  Such 
unconsidered  trifles  drop  through  the  loopholes  of 
history,  which  has  nothing  to  do  with  hearts  that 
are  broken  or  hopes  that  cannot  be  renewed. 


CHAPTER    IV. 


BARTOLOMMEO    COLLEONI. 


The  lives  of  the  other  condottieri  who  tore  Lom- 
bardy  in  pieces  among  them  and  were  to-day  for 
Venice  and  to-morrow  for  Milan,  or  for  any  other 
master  who  might  turn  up  with  a  reasonable  chance 
of  fighting,  have  less  of  human  interest,  as  they 
have  less  of  the  tragic  element  in  their  lives,  and 
less  of  what  we  may  call  modern  characteristics  in 
their  minds,  than  the  unfortunate  general  who 
ended  his  days  "between  the  columns,"  the  victim 
of  suspicion  only,  leaving  no  proof  against  him  that 
can  satisfy  posterity.  If  Carmagnola  was  a  traitor 
at  all,  he  was  such  a  one  as  might  be  the  hero  of  an 
analytical  drama  of  our  own  day ;  wavering  between 
truth  and  falsehood,  worked  upon  by  old  associa- 
tions and  the  spells  of  relenting  affection,  but  never 
able  to  bring  himself  to  the  point  of  renouncing  his 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  257 

engagements  or  openly  breaking  his  word.  Such  a 
traitor  might  be  in  reality  more  dangerous  than  the 
light-hearted  deserter  who  went  over  with  his  lances 
at  a  rousing  gallop  to  the  enemy.  But  modern  art 
loves  to  dwell  upon  the  conflicts  of  the  troubled 
mind,  driven  about  from  one  motive  or  object  to 
another,  now  seized  upon  by  the  tender  recollec- 
tions of  the  past,  and  a  longing  for  the  sympathy 
and  society  of  the  friends  of  his  youth,  now  sternly 
called  back  by  the  present  duty  which  requires  him 
to  act  in  the  service  of  their  enemy. 

It  is  difficult  to  realize  this  nineteenth-century 
struggle  as  going  on  under  the  corselet  of  a  mediae- 
val soldier;  a  fierce,  illiterate  general,  risen  from 
the  ranks,  ferocious  in  war  and  arrogant  in  peace, 
according  to  all  the  descriptions  of  him.  But  there 
is  nothing  vulgar  in  the  image  that  rises  before  us 
as  we  watch  Carmagnola  lying  inactive  on  those 
devastated  plains,  letting  his  fame  go  to  the  winds, 
paralyzed  between  the  subtle  wooings  of  old  associa- 
tions, the  horror  of  Philip's  approaching  ruin 
wrought  by  his  hands — of  Philip  who  had  been  his 
play-fellow  when  they  were  both  youths  at  Pavia, 
the  cousin,  perhaps  the  brother,  of  his  wife — and 
the  demands  of  the  alien  masters  who  paid  him  so 
well,  and  praised  him  so  loudly,  but  scorned  with 
fine  ridicule  his  rough,  military  ways.  Philip  had 
wronged  him  bitterly,  but  had  suffered  for  it;  and 
how  was  it  possible  to  keep  the  rude  heart  from 
melting  whenj;he  rage  of  love  offended  had  passed 
away,  and  the  sinner  pleaded  for  forgiveness?  Or 
who  could  believe  that  the  woman  by  his  side,  who 
was  a  Visconti,  would  be  silent,  or  that  she  could 
see  unmoved  her  own  paternal  blazon  sinking  to  the 
earth  before  the  victorious  Lion  of  the  Venetians? 
The  wonder  is  that  Carmagnola  did  not  do  as  at  one 
time  or  another  every  one  of  his  compeers  did — go 
over  cheerfully  to  Philip,  and  thus  turn  the  tables 
at  once.  Some  innate  nobility  in  the  man,  who  was 
not  as  the  others  were,  could  alone  have  prevented 

17  Veniwi 


258  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

this  very  usual  catastrophe.  Even  if  we  take  the 
view  of  the  Venetian  Signoria,  that  he  was  in  his 
heart  a  traitor,  we  must  still  allow  the  fact,  quite 
wonderful  in  the  circumstances,  that  he  was  not  so 
by  any  overt  act — and  that  his  treachery  amounted 
to  nothing  more  than  the  struggle  in  his  mind  of 
two  influences  which  paralyzed  and  rendered  him 
wretched.  The  ease  with  which  he  fell  into  the 
snare  laid  for  his  feet,  and  obeyed  the  Signoria's 
call,  which  in  reality  was  his  death  warrant,  does 
not  look  like  a  guilty  man. 

The  others  were  all  of  very  different  mettle. 
Gonzaga,  Marquis  of  Mantua,  who,  with  a  few  gen- 
erations of  forefathers  behind  him,  might  have  been 
supposed  to  have  learned  the  laws  of  honor  better 
than  a  mere  Savoyard  trooper,  went  over  without  a 
word,  at  a  most  critical  moment  of  the  continued 
war,  yet  died  in  his  bed  comfortably,  no  one  think- 
ing of  branding  him  with  the  name  of  traitor. 
Sforza  acted  in  the  same  manner  repeatedly,  with- 
out any  apparent  criticism  from  his  contemporaries, 
and  in  the  end  displaced  and  succeeded  Philip,  and 
established  his  family  as  one  of  the  historical  famil- 
ies of  Italy.  None  of  these  men  seem  to  have  had 
any  hesitation  in  the  matter.  And  neither  had  the 
lesser  captain  who  has  so  identified  himself  with 
Venice  that  when  we  touch  upon  the  mainland  and 
its  wars,  and  the  conquests  and  losses  of  the  repub- 
lic, it  is  not  possible  to  pass  by  the  name  of  Col- 
leoni.  This  is  not  so  much  for  the  memory  of  any- 
thing he  has  done,  or  from  any  characteristics  of  an 
impressive  nature  which  he  possessed,  as  from  the 
wonderful  image  of  him  which  rides  and  reigns  in 
Venice,  the  embodiment  of  martial  strength  and 
force  unhesitating,  the  mailed  captain  of  the  Middle 
Ages,  ideal  in  a  tremendous  reality  which  the  least 
observant  cannot  but  feel.  There  he  stands  as  in 
iron — nay,  stands  not,  but  rides  upon  us,  unscrup-l 
ulous,  unswerving,  though  his  next  step  should  be 
on  the  hearts  of  the  multitude,  crushing  them  tO: 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  259 

pulp  with  remorseless  hoofs.  Man  and  horse 
together,  there  is  scarcely  any  such  warlike  figure 
left  among  us  to  tell  in  expressive  silence  the  tale 
of  those  days  when  might  was  right,  and  the  sword, 
indifferent  to  all  reason,  turned  every  scale.  Colle- 
oni  played  no  such  emphatic  part  in  the  history  of 
Venice  as  his  great  leader  and  predecessor.  But  he 
was  mixed  up  in  all  those,  wonderful  wars  of  Lom- 
bardy;  in  the  confusion  ot  sieges,  skirmishes,  sur- 
prises ever  repeated,  never  decisive;  a  phantas- 
magoria of  moving  crowds;  a  din  and  tumult  that 
shakes  the  earth,  thundering  of  horses,  cries  and 
shouts  of  men,  and  the  glancing  of  armor,  and  the 
blaze  of  swords,  reflecting  the  sudden  blaze  of  burn- 
ing towns,  echoing  the  more  terrible  cries  of  sacked 
cities.  From  the  miserable  little  castello,  taken 
again  and  again,  and  yet  again,  its  surrounding 
fields  trampled  down,' its  poor  inhabitants  drained 
ot  their  utmost  farthing,  to  such  rich  centers  as 
Brescia  and  Verona,  which  lived  for  half  their  time 
shut  up  within  their  walls,  besieged  by  one  army 
or  the  other,  and  spent  the  other  half  in  settling 
their  respective  ransoms,  changing  their  insignia, 
setting  up  the  Lion  and  Serpent  alternately  upon 
their  flags,  what  endless  misery  and  confusion,  and 
waste  of  human  happiness!  But  the  captains  who 
changed  sides  half  a  dozen  times  in  their  career, 
and  were  any  man's  men  who  would  give  them  high 
pay  and  something  to  fight  about,  pursued  their 
trade  with  much  impartiality,  troubling  themselves 
little  about  the  justice  or  injustice  of  their  cause, 
and  still  less,  it  would  appear,  about  any  bond  of 
honor  between  themselves  and  their  masters.  Col- 
leoni  alone  seems  to  have  had  some  scrupulousness 
about  breaking  his  bond  before  his  legal  time  was 
up.  The  others  do  not  seem  to  have  had  conscience 
even  in  this  respect,  but  deserted  when  it  pleased 
them;  as  often  as  not  in  the  middle  ot  a  campaign. 
Bartolommeo  Colleoni,  or  Coglioni,  as  his  bio- 
grapher calls  him,  was  born  in  the  year  1400,  t)f  a 


^60  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

family  of  small  rustic  nobility  near  Bergamo,  but 
was  driven  from  his  home  by  a  family  feud,  in  the 
course  of  which  his  father  was  displaced  from  the 
fortress  which  he  seems  to  have  w^on  in  the  good  old 
way  by  his  spear  and  his  bow — by  a  conspiracy 
headed  by  his  own  brothers.  This  catastrophe  scat- 
tered the  children  of  Paolo  Colleoni,  and  threw  into 
the  ranks  of  the  free  lances  (which  probably,  how- 
ever, would  have  been  their  destination  in  any  case) 
his  young  sons  as  soon  as  they  were  old  enough  to 
carry  a  spear.  The  first  service  of  Bartolommeo 
was  under  the  condottiere  Braccio,  in  the  service  of 
the  Queen  of  Naples,  where  he  is  said,  by  his  bio- 
grapher Spino,  to  have  acquired,  from  his  earliest 
beginnings  in  the  field,  singular  fame  and  reputa- 
tion. It  is  unfortunate  that  this  biographer, 
throughout  the  course  of  his  narrative,  adopts  the 
easy  method  of  attributing  to  Colleoni  all  the  fine 
things  done  in  the  war;  appropriating  without 
scruple  acts  which  are  historically  put  to  the  credit 
of  his  commanders.  It  is  possible,  no  doubt,  that 
he  is  right,  and  that  the  young  officer  suggested  to 
Gattamelata  his  famous  retreat  over  the  mountains, 
and  to  the  engineer  who  carried  it  out  the  equally 
famous  transport  overland  to  the  Lago  di  Garda  of 
certain  galleys  to  which  we  shall  afterward  refer. 
Colleoni  entered  the  service  of  Venice  at  the  begin- 
ning of  Carmagnola's  first  campaign,  with  a  force 
of  forty  horsemen,  and  his  biographer  at  once  cred- 
its him,  on  the  authority  of  an  obscure  historian, 
with  one  of  the  most  remarkable  exploits  of  that 
war,  the  daring  seizure  of  a  portion  of  the  fortifica- 
tions of  Cremona,  before  which  Carmagnola's  army 
was  lying.  He  was  at  least  one  of  the  little  party 
which  executed  this  feat  of  arms. 

Bartolommeo,  accompanied  by  Mocimo  da  Lugo,  and  by 
Cavalcabue,  the  son  of  Ugolino,  once  Lord  of  Cremona,  both 
captains  in  the  army,  the  latter  having  friends  in  the  city, 
approached  the  walls  by  night,  with  great  precaution,  and,  on 
that  sJide  where  they  had  been  informed  the  defenses  were 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  261 

weakest,  placed  their  ladders.  Bartolommeo  was  the  first,  con 
intrepidissimo  animo,  to  ascend  the  wall  and  to  occupy  the 
tower  of  San  Luca,  having  killed  the  commander  and  guards. 
News  was  sent  at  once  to  Carmagnola  of  this  success,  upon 
whijfh,  had  he,  according  to  their  advice,  hastened  to  attack, 
Cremona,  without  doubt,  would  have  fallen  into  the  hands  of 
the  Venetians. 

The  young  adventurers  held  this  tower  for  three 
days,  as  Quentin  Durward  or  the  three  Mousque- 
taires  of  Dumas  might  have  done,  but  finally  were 
obliged  to  descend  as  the  had  come  up,  and  return 
to  the  army  under  cover  of  night,  with  nothing  but 
the  name  of  a  daring  feat  to  reward  them — though 
that,  no  doubt,  had  its  sweetness,  and  also  a  certain 
value  in  their  profession.  The  curious  complication 
of  affairs  in  that  strange,  distracted  country,  may 
be  all  the  more  clearly  realized  if  we  note  that  one 
of  the  three,  and  most  probably  the  leader  of  the 
band,  was  a  Cremonese,  familiar  with  all  the  points 
of  vantage  in  the  city,  and  the  son  of  its  former 
lord,  with,  no  doubt,  partisans  and  a  party  of  his 
own,  had  he  been  able  to  push  his  way  out  of  the 
Rocca  to  the  interior  of  the  city.  Thus  there  was 
always  someone  who,  even  in  the  subjection  of  his 
native  place  to  the  republic,  may  have  hoped  for  a 
return  of  his  own  family,  or  at  least  for  vengeance 
upon  the  neighboring  despot  that  had  cast  it  out. 

We  hear  of  Colleoni  next  in  a  rapid  night  march 
to  Bergamo,  which  was  the  original  home  of  his 
own  race,  and  which  was  threatened  by  the  Milanese 
forces  under  Piccinino.  Knowing  the  city  to  be 
without  means  of  defense,  though  apparently  still 
in  a  state  of  temporary  independence,  Colleoni  pro- 
posed to  his  commanders  to  hurry  thither  and 
occupy  and  prepare  it  for  the  approaching  attack, 
with  the  condition,  however,  that  the  affairs  of  the 
city,  le  cose  de  Bergamaschi,  at  least  within  the  walls, 
j'hould  receive  no  damage — another  consolatory 
g.leam  of  patriotism  in  the  midst  of  all  the  fierce 
selfishness  of  the  time.  With  his  usual  prompti- 
tude, and  what  his  biographer  calls  aiiimo$itay  impe^- 


262  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

uosity,  he  rushed  across  the  country  while  Piccinino 
was  amusing-  himself  with  the  little  independ- 
ent castles  about;  *' robbing  and  destroying  the 
country,  having  given  orders  that  whatever  could 
not  be  carried  away  should  be  burned:  so  that  m  a 
very  short  time  the  villages  and  castles  of  the  val- 
leys Callepia  and  Trescoria  were  reduced  to  the 
semblance  and  aspect  of  a  vast  and  frightful  soli- 
tude."  Colleoni  had  only  his  own  little  force  of 
horsemen  and  three  hundred  infantry,  and  had  he 
come  across  the  route  of  the  Milanese,,  would  have 
been  but  a  mouthful  to  that  big  enemy:  But  he 
carried  his  little  band  along  with  such  energy  and 
inspiration  of  impetuous  genius  that  they  reached 
Bergamo  while  still  the  foe  was  busy  with  the  blaz- 
ing villages;  and  had  time  to  strengthen  the  fortifi- 
cations and  increase  both  ammunition  and  men 
before  the  approach  of  Piccinino,  who,  finally 
repulsed  from  the  walls  of  the  city  in  which  he  had 
expected  to  find  an  easy  prey  and  harbor  for  the 
stormy  season, — and  exposed  to  that  other  enemy, 
which  nobody  in  those  days  attempted  to  make  head 
against,  the  winter,  with  its  chilling  forces  of  rain 
and  snow, — streamed  back  disconsolate  to  Milan 
al  suo  Duca,  who  probably  was  not  at  all  glad  to  see 
him,  and  expected  with  reason  that  so  great  a  cap- 
tain as  Piccinino  would  have  kept  his  troops  at  the 
expense  of  Bergamo,  or  some  other  conquered  city, 
until  he  could  take  the  field  again,  instea.l  of  bring- 
ing such  a  costly  and  troublesome  following  home. 

We  cannot,  however,  follow  at  length  the  feats 
which  his  biographer  ascribes  to  CoUeoni's  a?iimosita 
and  impetuous  spirit,  which  was  combined,  accord- 
ing to  the  same  authority,  with  a  prudence  and  fore- 
sight *'above  the  captains  of  his  time.'* 

One  of  these  was  the  extraordinary  piece  of  engin- 
eering by  which  a  small  fleet,  including  one  or  two 
galleys,  was  transported  from  the  Adige  to  the  Lago 
di  Garda  over  the  mountain  pass,  apparently  that 
between  Mori  and  Riva.      Near  the  top  of  the  pass 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  263 

is  a  small  lake  called  now  the  Lago  di  Loppio;  a 
little  mountain  tarn,  which  afforded  a  momentary 
breathing  space  to  the  workmen  and  engineers  of 
this  wonderful  piece  of  work.  The  galleys,  two  of 
great  size  and  three  smaller,"  along  with  a  number 
of  little  boats  which  were  put  upon  carts,  were 
dragged  over  the  pass,  with  infinite  labor  and  pains, 
and  it  was  only  in  the  third  month  that  the  mmata 
— the  little  squadron  painfully  drawn  dow  hill  by 
means  of  the  channel  of  a  mountain  stream — found 
its  way  to  the  lake  at  last.  This  wonderful  feat  was 
the  work,  according  to  Sabellico,  of  a  certain  Sor- 
bolo  ot  Candia.  But  the  biographer  of  Colleoni 
boldly  claims  the  idea  for  his  hero,  asserting  with 
some  appearance  of  justice  that  the  fathers  of  Ven- 
ice would  not  have  consented  to  such  a  scheme  upon 
the  word  of  an  altogether  unknown  man,  who  was 
simply  the  engineer  who  carried  it  out.  It  was  for 
the  purpose  of  supplying  provisions  to  Brescia,  then 
closely  besieged,  that  this  great  work  was  done. 
Sabellico  gives  a  less  satisfactory  but  still  more 
imposing  reason.  *'It  was  supposed,"  he  says, 
"that  the  intention  of  the  Venetian  senators  was 
rather  to  encourage  the  Brescians,  than  for  any 
other  motive,  as  they  were  aware  that  these  ships 
were  of  no  use;  the  district  being  so  full  of  the 
enemy's  forces  that  no  one  could  approach  Brescia, 
and  great  doubts  being  entertained  whether  it 
would  be  possible  to  retain  Verona  andVicenza. " 
On  the  other  hand,  Spino  declares  that  the  armata 
fulfilled  its  purpose  and  secured  the  passage  ot 
provisions  to  Brescia.  It  was,  at  any  rate,  a  mag- 
nificent way  of  keeping  the  beleaguered  city,  and 
all  the  other  alarmed  dependencies  of  Venice  in  good 
heart  and  hope. 

None  of  our  historians  have,  however,  a  happy 
hand  in  their  narratives  of  these  wars.  They  are 
given  in  endless  repetitions,  and  indeed,  were  with- 
out any  human  interest,  even  that  of  bloodshed';  an 
eternal   see-saw   of  cities  taken   and   retaken,    of 


264  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

meaningless  movements  of  troops,  and  chess-board 
battles  gained  and  lost.  One  of  the  greatest  of 
these,  in  which  Colleoni  was  one  of  the  leaders 
against  Sforza,  who  led  the  troops  of  Milan,  bore  a 
strong  resemblance  to  that  battle  of  Maclodio,  in 
which  Carmagnola  won  so  great  but  so  so  unfortun- 
ate a  victory.  Sforza  had  established  himself,  as 
his  predecessor  had  done,  among  the  marshes;  and 
although,  at  the  first  onset,  the  Venetians  had  the 
best  of  it,  their  success  was  but  momentary,  and  the 
troops  were  soon  wildly  flying  and  floundering  over 
the  treacherous  ground.  Colleoni,  who  led  the 
reserve  and  who  made  a  stand  as  long  as  he  could, 
escaped  at  last  on  foot,  Sanudo  says,  who  writes  the 
woeful  news  as  it  arrives  at  the  fifteenth  hour  of  the 
15th  of  September,  1448.  "The  Proveditori  Almoro 
Donato  and  Guado  Dandolo  were  made  prisoners," 
he  says,  *' which  Proveditori  were  advised  by  many 
that  they  ought  to  fly  and  save  themselves,  but 
answered  that  they  would  rather  die  beside  the 
ensigns  than  save  themselves  by  a  shameful  flight. 
A.nd  note,"  adds  the  faithful  chronicler,  "that  this 
rout  only  one  of  our  troops  was  killed,  the  rest 
being  taken  prisoners  and  many  of  them  caught  in 
the  marshes. "  The  flight  of  the  mercenaries  on 
every  side,  while  the  two  proud  Venetians  stood  by 
their  flag,  perhaps  the  only  men  of  all  that  host 
who  cared  in  their  hearts  what  became  of  St.  Mark's 
often -triumphant  Lion,  affords  another  curious  pic- 
ture in  illustration  of  surely  the  strangest  warfare 
ever  practiced  among  men. 

But  not  for  this  [Sanudo  goes  on]  was  the  doge  discouraged, 
but  came  to  the  council  with  more  vigor  than  ever,  and  the 
question  was  how  to  reconstruct  the  army,  so  that,  having 
plenty  of  money,  they  should  establish  the  came  again  as  it 
was  at  first. 

Thus  Venetian  pride  and  gold  triumphed  ever 
misfortune.  The  most  energetic  measures  were 
taken  at   once  with   large  offers  of  pay  and  remit- 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  265 

tances  of  money,  and  the  broken  bands  were  gradu- 
ally regathered  together.  Sforza,  after  his  victory, 
pushed  on,  taking  and  ravaging  everything  till  he 
came  once  more  to  the  gates  of  Brescia,  where  again 
the  sturdy  citizens  prepared  themselves  for  a  siege. 
In  the  meantime  pairs  of  anxious  Proveditori  with 
sacks  of  money  went  off  at  once  to  every  point  of 
danger;  thirty  thousand  ducats  fell  to  the  share  of 
Brescia  alone.  At  Verona,  these  grave  officials 
*'day  and  night  were  in  waiting  to  enroll  men,  and 
very  shortly  had  collected  a  great  army  by  means 
of  the  large  payments  they  made." 

While  these  tremendous  efforts  were  in  the  course 
of  making,  once  more  the  whole  tide  of  affairs  was 
changed  as  by  a  magician's  wand.  The  people  of 
Milan  had  called  Sforza  back  on  their  duke's  death, 
but  had  held  his  power  in  constant  suspicion,  and 
were  now  seized  with  alarm  lest,  flushed  with  vic- 
tory as  he  was,  he  should  take  that  duke's  place— 
which  was  indeed  his  determination.  They  seized 
the  occasion  accordingly,  and  now  rose  against  hi? 
growing  power,  "desiring  to  maintain  themselves 
in  freedom."  Sforza  no  sooner  heard  of  this  than 
he  stopped  fighting,  and  by  the  handy  help  of  one 
of  the  Proveditori  who  had  been  taken  in  the  battle 
of  the  marshes,  and  who  turned  out  to  be  a  friend 
of  his  secretary  Simonetta,  made  overtures  of  peace 
to  Venice,  which  were  as  readily  accepted.  So  that 
on  the  1 8th  of  October  of  the  same  year,  little  more 
than  a  month  after  the  disastrous  rout  above  re- 
corded, articles  of  peace  were  signed,  by  which  the 
aid  of  four  thousand  horsemen  and  two  thousand 
foot  was  granted  to  Sforza,  along  with  a  subsidy  of 
thirteen  thousand  ducats  a  month,  according  to 
Sanudo,  though  one  cannot  help  feeling  that  an  ex- 
tra cipher  must  have  crept  into  the  statement. 
Venice  regained  all  she  had  lost;  and  the  transfor- 
mation scene  having  thus  once  more  taken  place, 
our  Colleoni  among  others,  so  lately  a  fugitive  be- 
fore the  victorious  Milanese,  settled  calixily  down  in 


^66  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

his  saddle  once  more  as  a  lieutenant  of  Sforza*s 
army,  as  if  no  battle  or  hostility  had  ever  been. 

A  curious  domestic  incident  appears  in  the  midst 
of  the  continued  phantasmagoria  of  this  endless 
fighting.  The  Florentines,  more  indifferent  to  con- 
sistency than  the  Venetians,  and  always  pleased  to 
humiliate  a  sister  state,  not  only  supported  Sforza 
against  the  Milanese,  but  presumed  to  remonstrate 
with  the  Signoria  when,  after  a  time,  getting 
alarmed  by  his  growing  power,  they  withdrew  from 
their  alliance  with  him.  This  was  promptly  an- 
swered by  a  decree  expelling  all  Florentine  inhabi- 
tants from  Venice,  and  forbidding  them  the  exercise 
of  any  commercial  transactions  within  the  town. 
Shortly  before.  King  Alfonso  of  Naples  had  made 
the  same  order  in  respect  to  the  Venetians  in  his 
kingdom.  These  arbitrary  acts  probably  did  more 
real  damage  than  the  bloodless  battles  which,  with 
constant  change  of  combinations,  were  going  on  on 
every  side. 

The  remaining  facts  of  Colleoni's  career  were  few. 
Notwithstanding  a  trifling  backslinging  in  the 
matter  of  aiding  Sforza,  he  was  engaged  as  cap- 
tain-general of  the  Venetian  forces  in  1455,  and 
remained  in  this  office  till  the  term  of  his  engagement 
was  completed,  which  seems  to  hav^e  been  ten  years. 
He  then,  Sanudo  tells  us,  "treated  with  Madonna 
Bianca,  Duchess  of  Milan"  (Sforza  being  just  dead, 
"to  procure  the  hand  of  one  of  her  daughters  for 
his  son.  But  the  marriage  did  not  take  place,  and 
he  resumed  his  engagements  with  our  Signoria." 
It  is  difficult  to  understand  how  this  proposal  could 
have  been  made,  as  to  all  appearance  Colleoni  left 
no  son  behind  him,  a  fact  which  is  also  stated  in- 
spect to  most  of  the  generals  of  the  time — a  benevo- 
lent interposition  of  nature,  one  cannot  but  think, 
for  cutting  off  that  seed  of  dragoons.  The  only 
other  mention  of  him  in  the  Venetian  records  is 
the  announcement  of  his  death,  which  took  place  in 
October,  1475,  i^  his  castle  of  Malpaga,  surrounded 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  267 

by  all  the  luxury  and  wealth  of  the  time.  He  was 
of  the  same  age  as  the  century,  and  a  completely 
prosperous  and  successful  man,  except  in  that  mat- 
ter of  male  children  with  which,  his  biographer 
naively  tells  us,  he  never  ceased  to  attempt  to  pro- 
vide himself,  but  always  in  vain.  He  left  a  splen- 
did legacy  to  the  republic  which  he  had  served  so 
long — with  abberrations,  which  no  doubt,  were  by 
that  time  forgotten — no  less  than  two  hundred  and 
sixteen  thousand  ducats,  Sanudo  says,  besides  arms, 
horses,  and  other  articles  of  value.  The  grateful 
Signoria,  overwhelmed  by  such  liberality,  resolved 
to  make  him  a  statue  with  a  portion  of  the  money. 
And  accordingly,  there  he  stands  to  this  day,  by 
the  peaceful  portals  of  San  Zanipolo;  ready  at  any 
moment  to  ride  down  any  insolent  stranger  who  lifts 
a  finger  against  Venice.  Appropriately  enough 
to  such  a  magnificent  piece  of  work  it  is  not  quite 
clear  who  made  it,  and  it  is  impossible  to  open  at 
guidebook  without  lighting  upon  a  discussion  as  to 
how  far  it  is  Verocchio's  and  how  far  Leopardi's. 
He  of  the  true  eye  at  all  events  had  a  large  hand  in 
it,  and  never  proved  his  gift  more  completely  than 
in  the  splendid  force  of  this  wonderful  horseman. 

The  power  and  thorough-going  strength  in  him 
have  impressed  the  popular  imagination,  as  it  was 
very  natural  they  should,  and  given  him  a  false  im- 
portance to  the  imaginative  spectator.  It  is  a  great 
thing  for  a  man  when  he  has  some  slave  of  genius 
either  with  pen  or  brush  or  plastic  clay  to  make  his 
portrait.  Sforza  was  a  much  greater  general  than 
Colleoni,  but  had  no  Verocchio  to  model  him.  In- 
deed our  Bartolommeo  has  no  pretensions  to  stand 
in  the  first  rank  of  the  mediaeval  condottieri.  He  is 
but  a  vulgar  swordsman  beside  Carmagnola,  or 
Sforza  or  Piccinino.  But  perhaps  from  this  fact  he 
is  a  better  example  than  either  of  them  of  the  hired 
captains  of  his  time. 

The  possessions  of  Venice  were  but  little  in- 
creased   by   the    seventy  years   of   fighting   which 


268  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

ensued  after  Carmagnola  had  won  Brescia  and  Ber- 
gamo for  her,  and  involved  her  in  all  the  troubles 
and  agitations  of  a  continental  principality.  She 
gained  Cremona  in  the  end  of  the  century,  and  she 
lost  nothing  of  any  importance  which  had  been  once 
acquired.  But  her  province  of  terra  firma  cost  her 
probably  more  than  it  was  worth  to  her  to  be  the 
possessor  even  of  such  fertile  fields  and  famous 
cities.  The  unfailing  energy,  the  wealth,  the  de- 
termined purpose  of  the  great  republic  were,  how- 
ever, never  more  conspicuous  than  in  the  struggle 
which  she  maintained  for  the  preservation  of  the 
province.  She  had  the  worst  of  it  in  a  great  num- 
ber of  cases,  but  the  loss  was  chiefly  to  her  purse 
and  her  vanity.  The  pawns  with  which  she  played 
that  exciting  game  were  not  of  her  own  flesh  and 
blood.  The  largo  paga?ne?ito  with  which  she  was 
prepared  was  always  enough  to  secure  a  new  army 
when  the  other  was  sped ;  and  notwithstanding  all 
her  losses  at  sea  and  in  the  East,  and  the  idleness 
which  began  to  steal  into  the  iDeing  of  the  new 
generations,  she  was  yet  so  rich  and  overflowing 
with  wealth  that  her  expenditure  abroad  took  noth- 
ing from  the  lavish  magnificence  of  all  her  festivals 
and  holidays  at  home.  Her  ruler  during  all  the 
period  at  which  we  have  here  hurriedly  glanced  was 
Francesco  Foscari,  he  against  whom  his  predecessor 
had  warned  the  Signoria  as  a  man  full  of  restless- 
ness and  ambition,  whose  life  would  be  a  constant 
series  of  wars.  Never  did  prediction  come  more 
true;  and  though  it  seems  difficult  to  see  how,  amid 
all  the  stern  limits  of  the  doge's  privileges,  it  could 
matter  very  much  what  his  character  was,  yet  this 
man,  in  the  time  of  his  manhood  and  strength,  must 
have  been  able,  above  others,  to  influence  his  gov- 
ernment and  his  race.  The  reader  has  already  seen 
amid  what  reverses  this  splendid  and  powerful 
ruler,  after  all  the  conflicts  and  successes  in  which 
he  was  the  leading  spirit,  ended  his  career. 


PART  IIL—THE  PAINTERS. 


CHAPTER  I. 


THE    THREE     EARLY    MASTERS. 

It  is  one  of  the  favorite  occupations  of  this  age  to 
trace  every  new  manifestation  of  human  genius  or 
force  through  a  course  of  development,  and  to  prove 
that  in  reality  no  special  genius  or  distinct  and  in- 
dividual impulse  is  wanted  at  all,  but  only  a  gradual 
quickening,  as  might  be  in  the  development  of  a 
grain  of  corn  or  an  acorn  from  the  tree.  I  am  not 
myself  capable  of  looking  at  the  great  sudden  ad- 
vances which,  in  every  department  of  thought  and 
invention,  are  made  from  time  to  time,  in  this  way. 
Why  it  should  be  that  in  a  moment  by  the  means  of 
two  youths  in  a  Venetian  house,  not  distinguishable 
in  any  way  from  other  boys,  nor  especially  from  the 
sons  of  other  poor  painters,  members  of  the  scuola 
of  S.  Luca,  which  had  long  existed  in  Venice,  and 
produced  dim  pictures  not  without  merit,  the  art  of 
painting  should  have  sprung  at  once  into  the 
noblest  place;  and  that  nothing  which  all  the  gen- 
erations have  done  since  with  all  their  inventions 
and  appliances,  should  ever  have  bettered  the  Bel-^ 
lini,  seems  to  me  one  of  those  miraculous  circum- 
stances with  which  the  world  abounds,  and  which 
illustrate  this  wayward,  splendid,  and  futile 
humanity  better  than  any  history  of  development 
could  do. 

The  art  of  painting  had  flourished  dimly  in  Venice 
for  long.  The  love  of  decorative  art  seems  indeed 
deed  to  have  been  from  its  very  beginning  charac- 

269  ,.. 


270  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

teristic  of  the  city.  Among  the  very  earliest  pro- 
ducts of  her  voyages,  as  soon  as  the  infant  state  was 
strong  enough  to  have  any  thought  beyond  mere 
subsistence,  were  the  beautiful  things  from  the 
East  with  which,  first  the  churches,  and  then  the 
houses,  were  adorned.  But  the  art  of  painting, 
though  its  earliest  productions  seem  to  have  been 
received  with  eagerness  and  honor,  lingered  and 
made  little  progress.  In  Murano — where  glass- 
making  had  been  long  established,  and  where  fancy 
must  have  been  roused  by  the  fantastic  art,  so 
curious,  so  seemingly  impossible,  of  blowing  liquid 
metal  into  forms  of  visionary  light,  like  bubbles, 
yet  hard,  tenacious,  and  clear,  the  first  impulse  of 
delineation  arose,  but  came  to  no  remarkable  suc- 
cess. There  is  much  indeed  that  is  beautiful  in  the 
pictures  of  some  of  these  dim  and  early  masters 
amid  the  mists  of  the  lagoons.  But  with  the  Bellini 
the  pictorial  art  came  like  Athene,  full  arrayed 
in  maturity  of  celestial  godhood,  a  sight  for  all 
men. 

It  is  a  doubtful  explanation  of  this  strange  differ- 
ence to  say  that  their  father  had  foregathered  in  the 
far  distance,  in  his  little  workshop,  with  Donatello 
from  Florence,  or  studied  his  art  under  the  instruc- 
tions of  Gentile  da  Fabriano.  The  last  privilege  at 
least  was  not  special  to  him,  but  must  have  been 
shared  with  many  others  of  the  devout  and  simple 
workmen  who  had  each  his  little  manufactory  of 
Madonnas  for  the  constant  consumption  of  the^ 
Church.  But  when  Jacopo  Bellini  with  his  tw 
sons  came  from  Padua  and  settled  near  the  Rialto 
the  day  of  Venice,  so  far  as  the  pictorial  art  is  con 
cerned,  had  begun.  They  sprang  at  once  to  a^ 
different  standing  ground  altogether,  as  far  beyond 
the  work  of  their  contemporaries  as  Dante  was 
above  his.  No  theory  has  ever  explained  to  the 
human  intelligence  how  such  a  thing  can  be.  It  is; 
and  in  the  sudden  bound  which  Genius  takes  out  of 
all  the  trammels  of  the  ordinary — an  unaccountable, 


^ 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  271 

unreasonable,  inimitable  initiative  of  its  own — arise 
the  epochs  and  is  summed  up  the  history  of  Art. 

It  must  have  been  nearly  the  middle  of  the  fif- 
teenth century  when  the  Bellini  began  to  make 
themvSelves  known  in  Venice.  Mediaeval  history 
does  not  concern  itself  with  dates  in  respect  to  such 
humble  members  of  the  commonwealth,  and  about 
the  father  of  Jacopo,  it  is  impossible  to  tell  how 
long  he  lived  or  when  he  died.  He  was  a  pupil,  as 
has  been  said,  of  Gentile  da  Fabriano,  and  went 
with  him  to  Florence  in  his  youth,  and  thus  came 
in  contact  with  the  great  Tuscan  school  and  its 
usages;  and  it  is  known  that  he  settled  for  some 
time  at  Padua,  where  his  sons  had  at  least  a  part  of 
their  education,  and  where  he  married  his  daughter 
to  Andrea  Mantegna;  therefore  the  school  of  Padua 
had  also  something  to  do  with  the  training  of  these 
two  young  men;  but  whether  they  first  saw  the 
light  in  Venice,  or  when  the  family  returned  there, 
it  is  not  known.  Jacopo,  the  father,  exercised  his 
art  in  a  mild,  mediocre  way,  no  better  or  worse 
than  the  ordinary  members  of  the  scuola.  Prob- 
ably his  sons  were  still  young  when  he  returned  to 
the  Rialto,  where  the  family  house  was;  for  there 
is  no  indication  that  Gentile  or  Giovanni  were 
known  in  Padua,  nor  can  we  trace  at  what  period 
it  began  to  be  apparent  in  Venice  that  Jacopo  Bel- 
lini's modest  workshop  was  sending  forth  altar- 
pieces  and  little  sacred  pictures  such  as  had  never 
before  been  known  to  come  from  his  hand.  That 
this  fact  would  soon  appear  in  such  an  abundant 
and  ever-circulating  society  of  artists,  more  than 
usually  brought  together  by  the  rules  of  the  scuola 
and  the  freemasonry  common  to  artists  everywhere, 
can  scarcely  be  doubted ;  but  dates  there  are  few. 
It  is  difficult  even  to  come  to  any  clear  understand- 
ing as  to  the  first  great  public  undertaking  in  the 
way  of  art — the  decoration  of  the  hall  of  the  Con- 
siglio  Maggiore.  It  was  begun,  we  are  told,  in  the 
reign  of  Marco  Cornaro,  in  the  middle  of  the  previ- 


272  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

ous  century;  but  both  the  brothers  Bellini  were  en- 
gaged upon  it  when  they  first  come  into  sight,  and 
it  seems  to  have  give  occupation  to  all  the  painters 
of  their  age.  Kugler  mentions  1456  as  the  probable 
date  of  a  picture  of  Giovani  Bellini;  but  though 
this  is  conjectural,  Bellini  (he  signs  himself  "Juan" 
in  the  receipt  preserved  in  the  Sala  Margherita  at 
the  Archivio,  which  is  occasionally  altered  into 
*'Zuan"  in  the  documents  of  the  time)  would  at  that 
date  be  about  thirty,  and  no  doubt  both  he  and  his 
brother  were  deep  in  work  and  more  or  less  known 
to  fame  before  that  age. 

It  was  not  till  a  much  later  period,  however,  that 
an  event  occurred  of  the  greatest  importance  in  the 
history  of  art — the  arrival  in  Venice  of  Antonello 
of  Messina,  a  painter  chiefly,  it  would  seem,  of  por- 
traits, who  brought  with  him  the  great  discovery  of 
the  use  of  oil  in  painting  which  had  been  made  by 
Jan  van  Eyck  in  Bruges  some  time  before.  Anto- 
nello had  got  it,  Vasari  says,  from  the  inventor  him- 
self; but  a  difficulty  of  dates  makes  it  more  probable 
that  Hans  Meraling  was  the  Giovanni  di  Bruggia 
whose  confidence  the  gay  young  Sicilian  gained,  per- 
haps by  his*lute  and  his  music  and  all  his  pleasant 
ways.  Antonello  came  to  Venice  in  1473,  ^.nd  was 
received  as  a  stranger — especially  a  stranger  with 
some  new  thing  to  show — seems  to  have  always 
been  in  the  sensation-loving  city.  But  when  they 
first  saw  his  work,  the  painter  brotherhoods,  the 
busy  and  rising  scuole,  received  a  sensation  of 
another  kind.  Up  to  this  time  the  only  known 
medium  of  painting  had  been  distemper,  and  in 
this  they  were  all  at  work,  getting  what  softness 
and  richness  they  could,  and  that  jnorbidezsa.,  the 
melting  roundness  which  the  Italians  loved,  as  much 
as  they  could,  by  every  possible  contrivance  and 
exertion  out  of  their  difficult  material.  But  the 
first  canvas  which  the  Sicilian  set  up  to  show  his 
new  patrons  and  professional  emulators  was  at  once 
a  revolution  and  a  wonder.     Those  dark  and  glow- 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  273 

ing  faces,  which  still  look  at  us  with  such  a  force  of 
life,  must  have  shone  with  a  serene  superiority 
upon  the  astonished  gazers  who  knew  indeed  how  to 
draw  from  nature  and  find  the  secret  of  her  senti- 
ment and  expression  as  well  as  Antonello,  but  not 
how  to  attain  that  luster  and  solidity  of  texture, 
that  bloom  ot  the  cheek  and  light  in  the  eye,  which 
were  so  extraordinarily  superior  to  anything  that 
could  be  obtained  from  the  comparatively  dry  and 
thin  colors  of  the  ancient  method.  This  novelty 
created  such  a  flutter  in  the  workships  as  no  wars 
or  commotions  could  call  forth.  How  could  that 
warmth  and  glow  of  life  be  got  upon  a  piece  of  can- 
vas? One  can  imagine  the  painters  gathering,  dis- 
cussing in  storms  of  soft  Venetian  talk  and  boundless 
argument;  the  Vivarini  hurrying  over  in  their 
boats  from  Murano,  and  every  lively  cena  and  moon- 
light promenade  upon  the  lagoon  apt  in  a  moment 
to  burst  into  tempests  of  debate  as  to  what  was  this 
new  thing.  And  on  their  scaffoldings  in  the  great 
hall  of  the  Palazzo,  where  they  were  dashing  in 
their  great  frescoes,  what  a  hum  of  commotion 
would  run  round.  How  did  he  get  it,  that  light 
and  luster,  and  how  could  they  discover  what  it 
was,  and  share  the  benefit? 

The  story  which  is  told  by  Ridolfi,  but  which  the 
historians  of  a  more  critical  school  reject  as  fabu- 
lous, is  at  all  events  in  no  way  unlikely  or  untrue 
to  nature,  or  the  eager  curiosity  of  the  artists,  or 
Venetian  ways.  These  were  the  days,  it  must  be 
recollected,  when  craftsmen  kept  the  secret  of  their 
inventions  and  discoveries  jealously  to  themselves, 
and  it  was  a  legitimate  as  well  as  a  natural  effort, 
if  on^;  could,  to  find  them  out.  The  story  goes  that 
Giovanni  Bellini,  by  this  time  at  the  head  of  the 
painters  in  Venice,  the  natural  and  proper  person 
to  take  action  in  any  such  matter,  being  unable  to 
discover  Antonello's  secret  by  fair  means,  got  it 
by  what  we  can  scarcely  foul,  though  it  was  a  trick. 
But  the  trick  was  not  a  very  bad  one,  and  doubtless, 

18  Venice 


274  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

among  men  of  their  condition,  might  be  laughed 
over  as  a  good  joke  when  it  was  over.  What  Bel- 
lini did,  "feigning  to  be  a  gentleman,"  was  to  com- 
mission Antonello  to  paint  his  portrait — an  expedi- 
ent which  gave  him  the  best  opportunity  possible 
for  studying  the  stranger's  method.  If  it  were  nec- 
essary here  to  examine  this  tale  rigorously,  we 
should  say  that  it  was  highly  unlikely  so  distin-. 
guished  a  painter  as  Bellini  could  be  unknown  to 
the  newcomer,  who  must,  one  would  think,  have 
been  eager  to  make  acquaintance,  on  his  first 
arrival,  with  the  greatest  of  Venetian  artists.  But 
at  all  events  it  is  a  picturesque  incident.  One  can 
imagine  the  great  painter,  "feigning  to  be  a  gentle- 
man," seating  himself  with  a  solemnity  in  which 
there  must  have  been  a  great  deal  of  grim  humor 
in  the  sitter's  chair — he  had  put  on  "the  Venetian 
toga"  for  the  occasion,  Ridolfi  says,  evidently  some- 
thing different  from  the  usual  garb  of  the  artist,  and 
no  doubt  felt  a  little  embarrassment  mingling  with 
his  professional  sense  of  what  was  most  graceful 
in  the  arrangement  of  the  unaccustomed  robe.  But 
this  would  not  prevent  him  from  noting  all  the 
time,  under  his  eyelids,  with  true  professional 
vision,  the  colors  on  the  palette,  the  vials  on  the 
table,  the  sheaf  of  brushes — losing  no  movement  of 
the  painter,  and  quick  to  note  what  compound  it 
was  into  which  he  dipped  his  pencil — "osservando 
Giovanni  che  di  quando  in  quando  inten  geva  11 
pennello  nell'  oglio  di  lin,  venne  in  cognizione  del 
modo,"  "seeing  him  dip  his  brush  from  time  to 
time  in  oil,"  which  perhaps  was  the  primitive  way 
of  using  the  new  method  One  wonders  if  Anto- 
nello ever  finished  the  portrait;  if  it  was  he  who 
set  forth  the  well-known  image  of  the  burly  master 
with  his  outspreading  mop  of  russet  hair;  or  if  the 
Venetian  after  a  while  threw  off  his  toga,  and  with 
a  big  laugh  and  roar  of  good  humored  triumph 
announced  that  his  purpose  was  served  and  all  that 
he  wanted  gained. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  275 

There  is  another  version  of  the  manner  in  which 
Antonello's  secret  was  discovered  in  Venice.  Of 
this  later  story  it  is  Vasari  who  is  the  author.  He, 
on  his  side,  develops  out  of  the  dim  crowd  of  lesser 
artists  a  certain  Domenico  Veniziano,  who  was  the 
first  to  make  friends  with  the  Sicilian.  Antonello, 
tor  the  love  he  bore  him,  communicated  his  secret, 
Vasari  says,  to  this  young  man,  who  for  a  time 
triumphed  over  all  competitors;  but  afterward, 
coming  to  Florence,  was  in  his  turn  cajoled  out  of 
the  much-prized  information  byaFlorentine  painter, 
Andrea  del  Castegna,  who,  envious  of  Domenico's 
success,  afterward  waylaid  him  and  killed  him  as 
he  was  returning  from  his  usual  evening  diversions. 
This  anecdote  has  been  taken  to  pieces  as  usual  by 
later  historians  jealous  for  exactness,  who  have 
discovered  that  Domenico  of  Venice  outlived  his 
supposed  murderer  by  several  years.  Vasari  is  so 
very  certain  on  the  point,  however,  that  we  cannot 
help  feeling  that  something  of  the  kind  he  de- 
scribes, some  assault  must  have  been  made — a  quar- 
rel perhaps  sharper  than  usual;  an  attempt  at 
vengeance  for  some  affront,  though  it  did  not  have 
the  fatal  termination  which  he  supposes. 

Vasari,  however,  in  telling  this  story,  affords  us 
an  interesting  glimpse  of  the  condition  of  Venice 
at  the  period.  Politically,  it  was  not  a  happy  mo- 
ment. While  the  republic  exhausted  her  resources 
in  the  wars  described  in  our  last  chapters,  her 
dominion  in  the  East,  as  well  as  her  trade,  had  been 
greatly  impaired.  The  Turk,  that  terror  of  Chris- 
tendom, had  cruelly  besieged  and  finally  taken 
several  towns  and  strong  places  along  the  Dalmatian 
coast;  he  had  been  in  Fruii  murdering  and  ravag- 
ing. The  interrupted  and  uncertain  triumphs  of 
the  terra-firma  wars  were  but  little  compensation 
for  these  disasters,  and  the  time  was  approaching 
when  Venice  should  be  compelled  to  withdraw  from 
many  more  of  her  Eastern  possessions,  leaving  a 
town  here,  an  island  there,  to  the  Prophet  and  his 


276  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

hordes.  But  within  the  city  it  is  evident  nothing  of 
the  kind  affected  the  general  life  of  pleasure  and 
display  and  enjoyment  that  was  going  on.  The 
doges  were  less  powerful,  but  more  splendid  than 
ever;  the  canals  echoed  with  song  and  shone  with 
gay  processions ;  the  great  patrician  houses  grew 
more  imposing  and  their  decorations  more  beautiful 
every  day.  The  ducal  palace  had  at  last  settled, 
after  many  changes,  into  the  form  we  now  know ; 
the  great  public  undertaking  which  was  a  national 
tribute  to  the  growing  importance  of  art  was  being 
pushed  forward  to  completion ;  and  though  the 
great  Venetian  painters,  like  other  painters  in 
other  ages,  seem  to  have  found  the  state  a  shabby 
paymaster,  and  to  have  sometimes  shirked  and 
always  dallied  in  the  execution  of  its  commissions, 
yet,  no  doubt,  public  patronage  was  at  once  a  sign 
of  the  quickened  interest  in  art  and  a  means  of  in- 
creasing that  interest. 

The  frescoes  in  the  hall  of  the  Great  Council  were 
in  full  course  of  execution  when  the  Sicilian  Anto- 
nello  with  his  great  secret  came  to  seek  his  fortune 
in  the  magnificent  and  delightful  city  of  the  seas — 
a  place  where  every  rich  man  was  the  artist's 
patron,  and  every  gentleman  a  dilettante,  and  a 
new  triumphant  day  of  art  was  dawning,  and  the 
streets  were  full  of  songs  and  pleasure,  and  the 
studios  of  enthusiasm,  and  beauty  and  delight  were 
supreme  everywhere,  notwithstanding  that,  in  the 
silence, — by  anyone  who  listened, — the  wild  and 
jangled  bells  might  almost  be  heard  from  the 
besieged  cities  that  were  soon  no  longer  to  be  Vene- 
tian, calling  every  man  to  arms  within  their  walls, 
and  appealing  for  help  to  heaven  and  earth.  Such 
vulgar  external  matters  do  not  move  the  historian 
of  the  painters,  and  are  invisible  in  his  record. 
The  account  of  Antonello  is  full  of  cheerfulness  and 
light.  *' Being  a  person  much  given  to  pleasure, 
he  resolved  to  dwell  there  forever  and  finish  his 
life  where  he  had  found  a  mode  of  existence  so  much 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  277 

according  to  his  mind.  And  when  it  is  understood 
that  he  had  brought  that  great  discovery  from  Flan- 
ders, he  was  loved  and  caressed  by  those  magnifi- 
cent gentlemen  as  long  as  he  lived."  His  friend 
Domenico  is  also  described  as  "a  charming  and 
attractive  person,  who  delighted  in  music  and  in 
playing  the  lute ;  and  every  evening  they  found 
means  to  enjoy  themselves  together"  {far  buon  tempo 
— literally,  have  a  good  time,  according  to  the 
favorite  custom  of  our  American  cousins)  "serenad- 
ing their  sweethearts;  in  which  Domenico  took 
great  delight."  Thus  the  young  painters  lived,  as 
'Still  in  Venice  the  young  and  gay,  as  far  as  the 
habits  of  a  graver  age  permit,  love  to  live — roaming 
half  the  night  among  the  canals  or  along  the  sil- 
very edge  of  the  lagoon,  intoxicated  with  music  and 
moonlight  and  the  delicious  accompaniment  of 
liquid  movement  and  rhythmic  oars;  or  amid  the 
continual  pageants  in  the  Piazza,  the  feast  of  bril- 
liant color  and  delightful  groups  which  made  the 
painters  wild  with  pleasure ;  or  with  a  cluster  of 
admiring  and  splendid  youths  at  every  hand 
caressed  and  flattered  by  all  that  was  noblest  in 
Venice.  We  scarcely  think  of  this  high-colored 
and  brilliant  life  as  the  proper  background  for  those 
early  painters,  whose  art,  all  the  critics  tell  us, 
derives  its  excellence  from  their  warmer  faith  and 
higher  moral  tone ;  but  we  have  no  reason  to  be- 
lieve that  any  great  social  revolution  took  place 
between  the  day  of  the  Bellini  and  Carpaccio,  and 
that  of  Titian,  Vasari's  description,  corroborated 
as  it  is  by  many  others,  refers  to  a  period  when  the 
Bellini  were  in  the  full  force  of  life. 

Nor  are  we  led  to  suppose  that  they  were  distin- 
guished by  special  devotion,  or  in  any  way  sepa- 
rated from  their  class.  Venice  had  never  been 
austere,  but  always  gay.  There  were  the  light  and 
glow  of  a  splendid,  careless,  exuberant  life  in  her 
very  air,  a  current  ot  existence  too  swift  and  full 
of  enjoyment  to  be  subdued  even  by  public  misfor- 


^78  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

tunes  which  were  distant,  and  intensified  by  the 
wonderful  spring,  superior  to  every  damping  influ- 
ence, of  a  new  and  magnificent  development  of  art. 
The  two  Bellini  lived  and  labored  together  during 
their  father's  lifetime,  but  when  he  died,  though 
never  losing  their  mutual  brotherly  esteem  and 
tender  friendship,  separated,  each  to  his  own  path. 
Giovanni,  the  youngest  but  greatest,  continued 
faithful  to  the  subjects  and  methods  in  which  he  had 
been  trained,  and  which,  though  all  the  habits  of 
the  world  were  changing,  still  remained  most  per- 
fectly understood  and  acceptable  to  his  countrymen. 
The  Divine  Mother  and  Child,  with  their  attendant 
saints  and  angels,  were  the  favorite  occupation  of 
his  genius.  He  must  have  placed  that  sweet  and 
tender  image  over  scores  of  altars.  Sometimes  the 
Virgin  Mother  sits,  simple  and  sweet,  yet  always 
with  a  certain  grandeur  of  form  and  natural  nobil- 
ity, not  the  slim  and  childish  beauty  of  more  con- 
ventional painters,  with  her  Child  upon  her  knees; 
sometimes  enthroned,  holding  the  Sacred  Infant 
erect,  offering  Him  to  the  worship  of  the  world; 
sometimes  with  reverential  humility  watching  Him 
as  He  sleeps,  attended  on  either  side  by  noble 
spectacular  figures,  a  little  court  of  devout  behold- 
ers, the  saints  who  have  suffered  for  His  sake;  often 
with  lovely  children  seated  about  the  steps  of  her 
throne,  piping  tenderly  upon  their  heavenly  flutes, 
thrilling  the  chords  of  a  stringed  instrument,  with 
a  serious  sweetness  and  abstraction,  unconscious  of 
anything  but  the  Infant  Lord  to  whom  their  eyes 
are  turned.  No  more  endearing  and  delightful 
image  could  be  than  that  of  these  angel  children. 
They  were  a  fashion  of  the  age,  growing  in  the 
hands  of  Florentine  Botticelli  into  angelic  youths, 
gravely  meditating  upon  the  wonders  they  foresaw. 
In  Raphael,  though  so  much  later,  they  were  more 
divine,  like  little  kindred  gods,  waiting  in  an  un- 
speakable awe  till  the  great  God  should  be  revealed ; 
but  in  Bellini  more  sweet  and  human,  younger,  all 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  279 

tender  interest  and  delight,  piping-  their  lovely 
strains  if  perhaps  they  might  give  Him  pleasure. 
One  cannot  but  conclude  that  he  who  painted  these 
children  at  the  foot  of  every  divine  group  in  twos 
and  threes,  small  exquisite  courtiers  of  the  Infant 
King,  first  fruits  of  humanity,  must  have  found  his 
models  in  children  who  were  his  own,  whose  dim- 
pled, delightful  limbs  were  within  reach  of  hi's  kiss, 
and  whose  unconscious  grace  of  movement  and 
wondering  sweet  eyes  were  before  him  continually. 
The  delightful  purity  and  gravity,  and  at  the  same 
time  manliness,  if  we  may  use  such  a  word,  of 
these  pictures,  are  beyond  expression.  There  is 
no  superficial  grace  or  ornament  about  them,  not 
even  the  embrace  and  clinging  together  of  mother 
and  child,  which  in  itself  is  always  so  touching  and 
attractive,  the  attitude  of  humanity  which  perhaps 
has  a  stronger  and  simpler  hold  on  the  affections 
than  any  other.  Bellini's  Madonna,  raising  the 
splendid  column  of  her  throat,  holding  her  head 
high  in  a  noble  and  simple  abstraction,  offers  not 
herself  but  her  Child  to  our  eager  eyes.  She,  too, 
is  a  spectator,  though  blessed  among  women  in 
holding  Him,  presenting  Him  to  our  gaze,  making 
of  her  own  perfect  womanhood  His  pedestal  and 
support,  but  all  unconscious  that  prayer  or  gaze 
can  be  attracted  to  herself,  in  everything  His  first 
servant,  the  handmaid  of  the  Lord.  The  painter 
who  set  such  an  image  before  us  could  scarcely  have 
been  without  a  profound  and  tender  respect  for  the 
woman's  office,  an  exquisite  adoration  for  the 
Child. 

V\7'hile  the  younger  brother  kept  in  this  tradi- 
tional path,  giving  to  it  all  the  inspiration  of  his 
manly  and  lofty  genius,  his  brother  Gentile  entered 
upon  a  different  way.  Probably  he  too  began  in 
his  father's  workshop  with  mild  Madonnas;  but 
ere  long  the  young  painter  must  have  found  out 
that  other  less  sacred  yet  noble  subjects  were  bet- 
ter within  his  range  of  power.    His  fancy  must  have 


280  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

Strayed  away  from  the  primitive  unity  of  the  sacred 
group  into  new  compositions  of  wider  horizon  and 
more  extended  plan.  The  life  that  was  round  him 
with  all  its  breadth  and  rich  variety  must  have  be- 
guiled him  away  from  the  ideal.  The  pictures  he 
has  left  us  set  Venice  before  us  in  the  guise  she  then 
wore,  as  no  descrption  could  do.  In  the  two  great 
examples  which  remain  in  the  Venetian  Accademia 
there  is  a  sacred  motive:  they  are  chapters  in  the 
story  of  a  miraculous  holy  cross.  In  one,  the  sacred 
relic  is  being  carried  ac'ross  the  Piazza,  attended  by 
a  procession  of  wonderful  figures  in  every  magnifi- 
cence of  white  and  red,  and  gilded  canopy  and  em- 
broidered mantle.  And  there  stands  S.  Marco  in  a 
softened  blaze  of  gold  and  color,  with  all  the  fine 
lines  of  its  high  houses  and  colonnades,  the  Cam- 
panile not  standing  detached  as  now,  but  forming 
part  of  the  line  of  the  great  square:  and  in  the 
midst,  looking  at  the  procession,  or  crossing  calmly 
upon  their  own  business,  such  groups  of  idlers  and 
busy  men,  of  Eastern  travelers  and  merchants,  of 
gallants  from  the  Broglio,  with  here  and  there  a 
magistrate  sweeping  along  in  his  toga,  or  a  woman 
with  her  child  as  no  one  had  thought  of  painting 
before.  We  look,  and  the  life  that  has  been  so 
long  over,  that  life  in  which  all  the  offices  and  cere- 
monies of  religion  occupy  the  foreground,  but 
where  nothing  pauses  for  them,  and  business  and 
pleasure  both  go  on  unconcerned,  rises  before  us. 
The  Venice  is  not  that  Venice  which  we  know;  but 
is  still  most  recognizable,  most  living  and  lifelike. 
No  such  procession  ever  sweeps  now  through  the 
great  Piazza;  but  still  the  white  miters  and  glisten- 
ing copes  pour  through  the  aisles  of  S.  Marco,  so 
that  the  stranger  and  pilgrim  may  still  recognize 
the  unchangeable  accompaniments  of  the  true 
faith.  The  picture  is  like  a  book,  more  absolutely 
true  than  any  chronicle;  representing  not  only  the 
looks  and  the  customs  of  the  occasion,  but  the  very 
scene.      How  eagerly  the  people  must  have  traced 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  281 

it  out  when  it  first  was  made  public,  finding  out  in 
every  group  some  known  faces,  some  image  all  the 
more  interesting  because  it  was  met  in  the  flesh 
every  day!  Is  that  perhaps  Zuan  Bellini  himself, 
with  his  hair  standing  out  round  his  face,  talking 
to  his  companions  about  the  passing  procession; 
pointing  out  the  curious  effects  of  light  and  shade 
upon  the  crimson  capes  and  birettas,  and  watching 
while  the  line  defiles  with  its  glimmer  of  candles 
and  sound  of  psalms  against  the  majestic  shadow  of 
the  houses?  Still  the  more  characteristic  is  the 
other  great  picture.  The  same  procession,  but  more 
in  evidence,  drawn  out  before  us  with  the  light  in 
their  faces  as  they  wind  along  over  the  bridge,  with 
draperies  hung  at  every  window  and  the  women 
looking  out,  at  every  opening  one  or  two  finely 
ornamented  heads  in  elaborate  coifs  and  hoods; 
while  along  the  Fondamenta,  on  the  side  of  the 
canal,  a  row  of  ladies  in  the  most  magnificent  cos- 
tumes, pilgrims  or  votaries  kneeling  close  together, 
with  all  their  ornaments — jeweled  necklaces  and  cor- 
onets, and  light  veils  of  transparent  tissue  through 
which  the  full  matronly  shoulders  and  counte- 
nances appear  unobscured — look  on,  privileged 
spectators,  perhaps  waiting  to  follow  the  procession. 
It  is  a  curious  instance  of  the  truth  of  the  picture 
that  this  is  no  file  of  youthful  beauties  such  as  a 
painter  would  naturally  have  chosen,  but,  with 
scarcely  an  exception,  consists  of  buxom  and  full- 
blown mothers  with  here  and  there  a  child  thrust 
in  between.  It  is  said  by  tradition  that  the  first  of 
those  figures,  she  with  the  crown,  is  Catherine 
Cornaro,  the  ex-queen  of  Cyprus,  probably  come 
from  her  retirement  at  Asolo  to  view  the  procession 
and  see  a  little  life  and  gayety,  as  a  variation  on  the 
cultured  retirement  of  that  royal  villa.  The  object 
of  the  picture  is  to  show  how  the  cross,  which  has 
fallen  into  the  canal  by  much  pushing  and  crowd- 
ing of  the  populace,  floats  upright  in  the  water  and 
is  miraculously    rescued  by  its    guardian    in  full 


282  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

priestly  robes,  notwithstanding  the  eager  competi- 
tion of  all  manner  of  swimmers  in  costumes  more 
handy  for  the  water  who  have  dashed  in  on  every 
side,  but  this,  though  its  pious  purpose,  is  not  its 
most  interesting  part. 

It  is  difficult,  as  has  been  said,  to  find  any  guid- 
ance of  dates  in  the  dimness  of  distance,  in  respect 
to  matters  so  unimportant  as  pictures;  and  accord- 
ingly we  are  unable  to  trace  the  progress  of  the 
decoration  in  the  great  hall.  It  was  delayed  by 
many  causes — the  indifference  of  the  Signoria  and 
the  lukewarm  interest  of  the  painters.  Gentile 
Bellini  received  permission  from  the  Signoria  to  go 
to  the  East  in  1479,  ^^^  ^^  there  described  as  en- 
gaged on  the  restoration  of  a  picture  in  this  mag- 
nificent room,  originally  painted  or  begun  by  his 
namesake,  or,  as  we  should  say  in  Scotland,  his 
name-father,  Jacopo  Bellini  having  named  his  eldest 
son  after  his  master.  Gentile  da  Fabriano — a  work 
which  the  magnificent  Signoria  consider  his  brother 
Giovanni  may  well  be  deputed  to  finish  in  his 
place.  Nor  is  it  more  easy  to  discover  what  the 
principle  was  which  actuated  the  Signoria  in  select- 
ing for  the  decoration  of  the  hall  that  special  his- 
torical episode  which  is  so  problematical,  and  of 
which  even  Sanudo  says,  doubting,  that  *'if  it  had 
not  happened,  our  good  Venetians  would  never 
have  had  it  painted" — a  somewhat  equivocal  argu- 
ment. The  pertinacity  with  which  the  same  sub- 
jects were  repeated  three  times — first  by  the  earliest 
masters  then  in  the  full  glory,  of  art  by  all  the 
best  of  the  Bellini  generation  and  by  that  of  Titian; 
and  at  last  in  the  decay  of  that  glory,  after  the 
great  fire,  by  the  Tizianellos  and  Vecellini,  the 
successors  of  the  great  painters  departed,  whose 
works  remain — is  very  curious.  Perhaps  some- 
thing, even  in  the  apocryphal  character  of  this 
great  climax  of  glory  and  magnificence  for  Venice, 
may  have  pleased  the  imagination  and  suggested  a 
iDolder  pictorial  treatment,  with  something  of  allQ- 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  283 

gorical  meaning,  which  would  have  been  less 
appropriate  to  matters  of  pure  fact  and  well- 
authenticated  history.  And  no  doubt  the  people 
who  thronged  to  look  at  the  new  pictures  believed 
it  all  entirely,  if  not  the  great  gentlemen  in  their 
crimson  robes,  the  senators  and  councillors  who 
selected  these  scenes  as  the  most  glorious  that 
could  be  thought  of  in  the  history  of  the  city;  how 
Venice  met  and  conquered  the  naval  force  of  Bar- 
barossa  and  made  her  own  terms  with  him,  and 
reconciled  the  two  greatest  potentates  of  the  world, 
the  Pope  and  the  emperor,  was  enough  to  fill  with 
elation  even  the  great  republic.  And  the  authority 
of  fact  and  document  was  but  little  considered  in 
those  stormy  days. 

The  subject  on  which  Gentile  Bellini  was  at  work 
when  he  left  Venice  was  the  naval  combat  between 
the  Doge  Ziani  and  Prince  Otto,  son  of  Barbarossa, 
which  ended  in  the  completest  victory;  while  that 
allotted  to  Giovanni  Bellini  was  the  voyage  in  state 
of  the  same  Doge  Ziani  to  fetch  with  all  splendor 
from  the  Carita  the  Pope  who  was  there  in  hiding 
under  a  guise  of  excessive  humility — as  the  cook  of 
that  convent.  At  that  period,  identified  thus  by  his 
brother's  departure,  Giovanni  Bellini  must  have 
been  over  fifty,  so  that  his  promotion  did  not  come 
too  soon.  It  is  not,  however,  till  a  much  later 
period  that  we  obtain  the  next  glimpse,  authentic 
and  satisfactory,  of  his  share  of  the  great  public 
work,  in  which  there  were  evidently  many  lapses 
and  delays  for  which  the  painters  were  to  blame, 
as  well  as  weary  postponements  from  one  ofificial's 
term  of  power  to  another.  Early  in  the  next  cen- 
tury, however,  in  1507,  in  some  pause  ot  larger 
affairs,  the  council  seems  fo  have  been  seized  with 
a  sudden  movement  of  energy,  and  resolved  that  it 
would  be  no  small  ornament  to  their  hall  if  three 
pictures  begun  by  the  late  Alvise  Vivarini  could  be 
finished,  along  with  other  two,  one  of  which  was 
not   even    begun,  *'so  that  the  said  hall  might  bq 


284  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

completed  without  the  impediments  which  have 
hitherto  existed."  It  would  almost  seem  to  be  the 
pictures  confided  to  the  Bellini  which  were  in  this 
backward  condition,  for  the  Signoria  makes  an 
appeal  over  again  to  "the  most  faithful  citizen,  our 
Zuan  Bellini,"  to  bestir  himself.  But  the  negligent 
painter  must  by  this  time  have  been  eighty  or 
more,  and  it  was  evidently  necessary  that  he 
should  have  help  in  so  great  an  undertaking.  His 
brother  had  died  that  year  a  very  old  man,  and  a 
younger  brotherhood  was  coming  to  light.  And 
here  we  find  what  seems  the  first  public  recognition 
of  another  man  which  is  closely  connected  with 
those  of  the  Bellini  in  our  minds,  and  to  which 
recent  criticism  has  allotted  even  a  higher  place 
than  theirs.  The  noble  senators  or  councillors, 
suddenly  coming  out  of  the  darkness  for  this 
object,  appear  to  us  for  a  moment  like  masters  of 
the  ceremonies  introducing  a  new  immortal. 
"Messer  Vector,  called  Scarpazza,"  is  the  assistant 
whom  they  designate  for  old  Zuan  Bellini,  along 
with  two  names  unknown  to  fame,  "Messer  Vector, 
late  Mathio, "  and  "Girolamo,  painter,"'  no  doubt 
a  novice  whose  reputation  was  yet  to  win.  Car- 
paccio  was  to  have  five  ducats  a  month  for  his 
work ;  the  other,  Messer  Vector,  four ;  Girolamo,  the 
youth,  only  two — "and  the  same  are  to  be  diligent 
and  willing  in  aid  of  the  said  Ser  Zuan  Bellini  in 
painting  the  aforesaid  pictures,  so  that  as  diligently 
and  in  as  little  time  as  is  possible  they  may  be 
completed."  A  warning  note  is  added  in  Latin, 
(perhaps  to  make  it  more  solemn  and  binding)  of  the 
conditions  above  set  forth — in  which  it  is  "ex- 
pressly declared"  that  the  little  band  of  painters 
bind  themselves  to  work  "continuously  and  every 
day" — laborare  de  co7itinuo  et  omni  die.  This  betrays 
an  inclination  on  the  part  of  the  painters  to  avoid 
the  public  work  which  it  is  amusing  to  see.  Let 
us  hope  the  Signoria  succeeded  in  getting  their 
orders  respected ;  no  absences  to  finish  a  Madonna 


tHE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  ^5 

or  St.  Ursula  which  paid  better,  perhaps  both  in 
fame  and  money;  no  returning  to  the  public  service 
when  private  commissions  failed ;  no  greater  price 
tor  what  may  be  called  piece-work,  for  specially 
noble  productions;  but  steady  labor  day  by  day  at 
four  or  five  ducats  a  month  as  might  be,  with  the 
pupil-journeyman  to  clean  the  palettes  and  run 
the  errands!  In  Venice,  as  in  other  places,  it  is 
clear  that  the  state  service  was  not  lucrative  for  art. 

Six  years  after  we  find  the  work  still  going  on, 
and  another  workman  is  added.  *'In  this  council 
it  was  decided  that  Tiziano,  painter  (pytor),  should 
be  admitted  to  work  in  the  hall  of  the  Great  Council 
with  the  other  painters,  without,  however,  any 
salary,  except  the  agreed  sum  which  has  usually 
been  given  to  those  who  have  painted  here,  who  are 
Gentile  and  Zuan  Bellini  and  Vector  Scarpazza. 
This  Tiziano  to  be  the  same."  It  will  strike  the 
reader  with  a  certain  panic  to  see  with  what  in- 
difference these  great  names  are  bandied  about  as 
if  they  were  the  names  of  a  set  of  decorators;  one 
feels  an  awed  desire  to  ask  their  pardon !  But  not 
so  the  great  Ten,  who  held  the  lives  and  fortunes 
of  all  Venetians  in  their  hands. 

About  the  date  when  old  Bellini  was  thus  con- 
jured to  complete  or  superintend  the  completion  of 
the  wanting  pictures,  another  painter  from  a  very 
different  region — from  a  landward  town  fortified  to 
its  ears  and  full  of  all  mediaeval  associations,  in  the 
middle  of  Germany — came  to  Venice.  The  high- 
peaked  roofs  and  picturesque  turrets  of  Nuremburg 
were  not  more  unlike  the  rich  and  ample  facades  of 
the  Venetian  palaces,  or  the  glow  and  glory  of 
Venetian  churches,  than  was  the  sober  life  of  the 
Teuton  unlike  the  gay  and  genial  existence  of  the 
Venetians.  Albert  Durer  found  himself  in  a  south 
ern  paradise.  He  gives  the  same  account  of  that 
Venetian  life  at  first  hand  as  Vasari  does  in  his  histor- 
ical retrospect.  He  finds  himself  among  a  crowd  ol 
pleasant  companions;  players  on  the  lute,  so  accom- 


286  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

plished  and  sensitive  that  their  own  music  makes 
them  weep;  and  all,  great  and  small,  eager  to  see, 
to  admire,  to  honor  the  great  artist.  "Oh,  how  T 
shall  freeze  after  this  sunshine!  Here  1  am  a  gen- 
tleman, at  home  only  a  dependent,"  he  cries; 
elated,  yet  cast  down  by  the  difference,  and  to 
think  that  all  these  fine  Italian  lords  think  more 
highly  of  him  than  his  bourgeois  masters  in  Nurem- 
burg.  Sanbellini,  he  tells  his  friends,  has  come  to 
see  him,  the  venerable  old  man — very  old,  but  still 
the  best  painter  of  them  all,  and  a  good  man,  as 
everybody  says;  and  from  this  master  he  receives 
the  sweetest  praise  and  a  commission  to  paint 
something  for  him  for  which  he  promises  to  pay 
well.  Old  Zuan  Bellini,  with  his  vivacious  Vene- 
tian ways,  and  the  solemn  German,  with  his  long 
and  serious  countenance,  like  a  prophet  in  the 
desert — what  a  contrast  they  must  have  made !  But 
they  had  one  language  between  them  at  least;  the 
tongue  which  every  true  artist  understands,  the 
delightful  secret  freemasonry  and  brotherhood 
of  art. 

It  was  when  he  had  arrived  at  this  venerable  age, 
over  eighty,  but  still  coming  and  going  about  these 
pictures  in  the  great  hall,  and  alert  to  hear  of  and 
visit  the  stranger  from  Germany  who  brought  the 
traditions  of  another  school  to  Venice,  that  Bellini 
painted  his  last  or  almost  last  picture, — so  touching 
in  its  appropriateness  to  his  great  age  and  conclud- 
ing life, — the  old  "St.  Jerome"  in  San  Giovanni 
Crisostomo,  seated  high  upon  a  solitary  mount  with 
a  couple  of  admiring  saints  below.  Perhap  she  had 
begun  to  feel  that  old  age  needs  no  desert,  but  is 
always  solitary,  even  in  the  midst  of  all  pupils  and 
followers.  He  did  not  die  till  he  was  ninety.  It 
was  the  fashion  among  the  painters  of  Venice  to 
live  to  old  age.  Among  other  works  for  the  great 
hall,  it  is  understood  that  Bellini  painted  many  por- 
traits of  the  doges,  of  which  one  remains,  familiar 
to  us  all,  the  picture  now  in  our  National  Gallery  of 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  287 

that  wonderful  old  man  with  his  sunken  eyes  of  age, 
so  full  of  subtle  life  and  power.  History  bears  no 
very  strong  impression  of  the  character  of  Leon- 
ardo Loredano.  He  held  the  helm  of  state  bravely 
at  a  time  of  great  trial,  but  the  office  of  doge  by  this 
time  had  come  to  be  of  comparatively  small  import- 
ance to  the  constitution  of  Venice ;  however,  of  all 
the  potent  doges  of  Venetian  chronicles,  he  alone 
may  be  said  to  live  forever.  With  all  these  think- 
ings, astute  yet  humorous,  which  are  recorded  in 
his  eyes,  and  his  mouth  scarcely  sure  whether  to  set 
with  thin  lips  in  the  form  it  took  to  pronounce  a 
fatal  sentence,  or  to  soften  into  a  smile,  this  dry  and 
small,  yet  so  dignified  and  splendid  old  man  remains 
the  impersonation  of  that  mysterious  and  secret 
authority  of  the  republic  by  which,  alas!  the  doges 
suffered  more  than  they  enjoyed.  The  painter  is 
said  in  his  moinejits  perdus  to  have  painted  many  por- 
traits— among  others  that  Imagine  celeste  shining  like 
the  sun,  which  made  Bembo,  though  a  cardinal, 
burst  into  song: 

"Credo  che  il  mio  Bellin  con  la  figura, 
T'habbia  dato  il  costume  anche  di  lei, 
Che  rn^ardi  s'io  to  mira,  e  pur  tu  sei, 
Freddo  smalto  a  cui  gionse  alta  ventura." 

In  the  meantime  the  elder  brother.  Gentile,  had 
met  with  adventures  more  remarkable;  In  the 
year  1479,  ^s  has  been  noted,  the  Signoria  commis- 
sioned him  to  go  to  Constantinople  at  the  request  of 
the  sultan,  who  had  begged  that  a  painter  might  be 
sent  to  exhibit  his  powers,  or — as  some  say — who 
had  seen  a  picture  by  one  of  the  Bellini  carried 
thither  among  the  stores  of  some  Venetian  mer- 
chant, and  desired  to  see  how  such  a  wonderful 
thing  could  be  done.  This  is,  we  may  point  out  by 
the  way,  a  thing  well  worthy  of  remark  as  a  sign  of 
the  wonderful  changes  that  had  taken  place  in  the 
East  without  seriously  altering  the  long  habit  of 
trade  and  the  natural  alliance,  in  spite  of  all  inter- 
ruptions, between  buying  and  selling  communities. 


288  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

Even  within  these  simple  pages  we  have  seen  the 
Venetians  fighting  and  struggling,  making  a  hun- 
dred treaties,  negotiating  long  and  anxiously  for 
charters  and  privileges  from  the  Greek  empire  in 
the  capital  of  the  East;  then  helping  to  destroy  that 
imperial  house,  seizing  the  city,  setting  up  a  short- 
lived Latin  empire,  making  themselves  rich  with 
the  spoils  of  Constantinople.  And  now  both  these 
races  and  dynasties  are  swept  away,  and  the  infidel 
has  got  possession  of  the  once  splendid  Christian 
city,  and  for  a  time  has  threatened  all  Europe,  and 
V^enice  first  of  all.  But  the  moment  the  war  is 
stopped,  however  short  may  be  the  truce,  and  how- 
ever changed  the  circumstances,  trade  indomitable 
has  pushed  forward  with  its  cargoes,  sure  that  at 
least  the  Turk's  gold  is  as  good  as  the  Christian's, 
and  his  carpets  and  shawls  perhaps  better — who 
knows?  There  is  nothing  so  impartial  as  commerce, 
so  long  as  money  is  to  be  made.  Scutari  had 
scarcely  ceased  to  smoke  when  Gentile  Bellini  was 
sent  to  please  the  Turk  and  prove  that  the  republic 
bore  no  malice.  One  can  imagine  that  the  painter 
went,  not  without  trepidation,  among  the  proud  and 
hated  invaders  who  had  thus  changed  the  tace  of 
the  earth.  The  grim  monarch  before  whom  Europe 
trembled  received  him  with  courtesy  and  favor,  and 
Gentile  painted  his  portrait,  and  th^t  of  his  queen 
— no  doubt  some  chosen  member  of  the  harem 
whom  the  Venetian  chose  to  represent  as  the  sharer 
of  Mohammed's  throne. 

The  portrait  of  the  sultan,  formally  dated,  has 
been  brought  back  to  Venice,  after  four  hundred 
years  and  many  vicissitudes,  by  Sir  Henry  Layard. 
It  represents  no  murderous  Turk,  but  a  face  of 
curious  refinement,  almost  feeble,  though  full  of  the 
impassive  calm  of  an  unquestioned  despot.  The 
Venetian,  as  the  story  goes,  had  begun  to  be  at  his 
ease,  cheered,  no  doubt,  by  the  condescension  of 
the  autocrat  before  whom  all  prostrated  themselves, 
but  who  showed  no  pride  to  the  painter,  and  by  the 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  289 

unanimous  marveling  surprise,  as  at  a  prodigy,  of 
all  beholders,  when  a  horrible  incident  occurred. 
He  would  seem  to  have  gone  on  painting  familiar 
subjects,  notwithstanding  the  inappropriateness  of 
his  surroundings,  and  had  just  finished  the  story  of 
John  the  Baptist  "who  was  reverenced  by  the 
Turks  as  a  prophet."  But  when  he  exhibited  the 
head  of  the  Baptist  on  the  charger  to  the  sultan, 
that  potentate  began  to  criticise,  as  a  man  who  at 
last  finds  himself  on  familiar  ground.  He  told  the 
painter  that  his  anatomy  was  wrong,  and  that  when 
the  head  was  severed  from  the  body,  the  neck  dis- 
appeared altogether.  No  doubt  with  modesty,  but 
firmly,  the  painter  would  defend  his  work;  probably 
forgetting  that  the  sultan  had  in  this  particular  a 
much  greater  experience  than  he.  But  Mohammed 
was  no  man  to  waste  words.  He  called  a  slave  to 
him  on  the  spot,  and  whether  with  his  own  ready 
sword  or  by  some  other  hand,  swept  off  in  a  trice 
the  poor  wretch's  head,  that  the  painter  might  be  no 
longer  in  any  doubt  as  to  the  effect.  This  horrible 
lesson  in  anatomy  was  more  than  Gentile's  nerves 
could  bear,  and  it  is  not  wonderful  from  that 
moment  he  never  ceased  his  efforts  to  get  his  dis- 
missal, "not  knowing,"  says  Ridolfi,  "whether  some 
day  a  similar  jest  might  not  be  played  on  him. ' '  Fin- 
ally he  was  permitted  to  return  home  with  laudatory 
letters  and  the  title  of  Cavaliere,  and  a  chain  of  gold 
of  much  value  round  his  neck.  The  Venetian  author- 
ities either  felt  that  a  man  had  risked  so  much  to 
please  the  sultan  and  keep  up  a  good  understanding 
with  him  was  worth  a  reward,  or  they  did  not  ven- 
ture to  neglect  the  recommendation  of  so  great  a 
potentate — for  they  gave  the  painter  a  pension  of 
two  hundred  ducats  a  year  for  his  life.  And  he  was 
in  time  to  resume  his  pencil  in  the  great  hall  where 
Ridolfi  gives  him  the  credit  of  five  of  the  pictures, 
painted  in  great  part  after  his  return.  All  this  no 
doubt  splendid  series  was  destroyed  a  hundred  years 
after  by  fire ;  but,  as  has   been  already  noted,  the 

19  Venice 


290  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

subjects  were  repeated  in  the  subsequent  pictures 
which  still  exist,  although  these,  with  the  exception 
of  one  by  Tintoretto  and  one  by  Paolo  Veronese, 
were  executed  by  less  remarkable  hands. 

Gentile  Bellini  died  in  1507,  at  the  age  of  eighty, 
his  brother  nearly  ten  years  after;  they  were  both 
laid  with  so  many  others  of  their  brotherhood  in 
the  great  church  of  San  Giovanni  e  Paolo,  where 
the  traveler  may  see  their  names  upon  the  pave- 
ment in  all  humility  and  peace. 

The  nearest  to  these  two  brothers  in  the  meaning 
and  sentiment  of  his  work  is  Victor  Capaccio.  His 
place  would  almost  seem  to  lie  justly  between  them. 
He  is  the  first  illustrator  of  religious  life  and  legend 
in  Venice,  as  well  as  the  most  delightful  story-teller 
of  his  time,  the  finest  poet  in  a  city  not  given  to 
audible  verse.  The  extreme  devotion  which  Mr. 
Ruskin  has  for  this  painter  has  perhaps  raised  him 
to  a  pedestal  which  is  slightly  factitious — as  least,  so 
far  as  the  crowd  is  concerned,  who  follow  the  great 
writer  without  comprehending  him,  and  are  apt  to 
make  the  worship  a  little  ridiculous.  But  there  is 
enough  in  the  noble  series  of  pictures  which  set 
forth  the  visionary  lite  of  St.  Ursula  to  justify  a 
great  deal  of  enthusiasm.  No  more  lovely  picture 
was  ever  painted  than  that  which  represents  the 
young  princess  lying  wrapped  in  spotless  slumber, 
seeing  in  her  dream  the  saintly  life  before  her  and 
the  companion  of  her  career,  the  prince — half 
knight,  half  angel — whose  image  hovers  at  the  door. 
The  wonderful  mediaeval  room  with  all  its  slender, 
antique  furniture;  the  soft  dawn  in  the  window; 
the  desk  where  the  maiden  has  said  her  prayers; 
the  holy  water  over  her  head,  form  a  dim,  harmoni- 
ous background  of  silence  and  virgin  solitude.  And 
what  could  surpass  the  profound  and  holy  sleep,  so 
complete,  so  peaceful,  so  serene  in  which  she  lies, 
lulled  by  the  solemn  sweetness  of  her  vision,  in 
which  there  is  no  unrest,  as  of  earthly  love  always 
full  of   disquiet,   but  a  soft  awe  and  stillness  as  of 


rni^  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  29i 

great  tragic  possibilities  foreseen?  The  other  pic- 
tures of  the  series  may  be  more  rich  in  incident  and 
expression,  and  have  a  higher  dramatic  interest, 
but  the  sleep  of  Ursula  is  exquisite  and  goes  to 
every  heart. 

The  San  Giorgio  in  the  little  church  of  the  Slavs 
detaches  itself  in  a  similar  way  from  all  others,  and 
presents  to  the  imagination  a  companion  picture. 
Ursula  has  no  companion  in  her  own  story  that  is 
so  worthy  of  her  as  this  St.  George,  Her  prince  is 
only  a  vision;  he  is  absorbed  in  her  presence,  a 
shadow,  whom  the  painter  has  scarcely  taken  the 
trouble  to  keep  of  one  type,  or  recogfnizable 
throughout  the  series.  But  the  San  Giorgio  of  the 
Schiavoni  remains  in  our  thoughts,  a  vision  of 
youthful  power  and  meaning,  worthy  to  be  that 
maiden's  mate.  No  sleep  for  him,  or  dreams.  He 
puts  his  horse  at  the  dragon  with  an  intent  and 
stern  diligence  as  if  there  were  (as  truly  there  was 
not)  no  moment  to  lose,  no  breath  to  draw,  till  his 
mission  had  been  accomplished.  A  swift  fierceness 
and  determination  is  in  every  line  of  him ;  his  spear, 
which  seems  at  first  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  horse, 
is  so  on  purpose  to  get  a  stronger  leverage  in  the 
tremendous  charge.  The  dragon  is  quite  a  poor 
creature  to  call  forth  all  that  force  of  righteous  pas- 
sion; but  we  think  nothing  of  its  abject  meanness, 
all  sympathy  and  awe  being  concentrated  in  the 
champion's  heavenly  wrath  and  inspiration  of  pur- 
pose. We  do  not  pretend  to  follow  the  great  critic 
who  has  thrown  all  his  own  tender  yet  fiery  genius 
into  the  elucidation  of  every  quip  and  freak  of  fancy 
in  this  elaborate  mediaeval  poem.  The  low  and  half 
lighted  walls  of  the  little  brown  church,  which  bears 
a  sort  of  homely  resemblance  to  an  English  Little 
Bethel,  enshrine  for  us  chiefly  this  one  heroic  semb- 
lance, and  no  more;  and  we  do  not  attempt  to  dis- 
cuss the  painting  from  any  professional  point  of 
view.  But  we  are  very  sure  that  this  knight  and 
maiden,  though  they  never  can  belong  to  each  other 


292  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

will  find  their  places  in  every  sympathetic  soul  that 
sees  them,  together — George  charging  down  in 
abstract  holy  wrath  upon  the  impersonation  of  sin 
and  evil ;  Ursula  dreaming  of  the  great,  sad,  yet 
fair  life  before  her — the  pilgrim's  journey,  and  the 
martyr's  palm. 

The  lives  of  the  saints  were  the  popular  poetry  of 
Christendom,  catholic  and  universal  beyond  all  folk- 
lore and  folks-lieder,  before  even  the  limits  of  exist- 
ing Continental  nations  were  formed.  All  the  ele- 
ments of  romance,  as  well  as  that  ascetic  teaching 
and  doctrine  of  boundless  self-sacrifice  which  com- 
mends itself  always  to  the  primitive  mind  as  the 
highest  type  of  religion,  were  to  be  found  in  these 
primitive  tales,  which  are  never  so  happy  as  when 
taking  the  youngest  and  fairest  and  noblest  from  all 
the  delights  of  life,  and  setting  them  amid  the  mediae- 
val horrors  of  plague  and  destitution.  Carpaccio's 
saints,  however,  belong  to  even  an  earlier  variety  of 
the  self-devoted,  the  first  heroes  of  humanity.  It 
is  for  the  faith  that  they  contend  and  die;  they  are 
the  ideal  emissaries  of  a  divine  religion  but  newly 
unveiled  and  surrounded  by  a  dark  and  horrible 
infidel  world  which  is  to  be  converted  only  by  the 
blood  of  the  martyrs;  or  by  mysterious  forms  of 
evil,  devouring  dragons  and  monsters  of  foul 
iniquity,  who  must  be  slain  or  led  captive  by  the 
spotless  warriors  in  whom  there  is  nothing  kindred 
to  their  rapacious  foulness.  Perhaps  it  is  because 
of  the  vicinity  of  Venice  to  the  East,  and  of  the  con- 
tinual conflict  with  the  infidel  which  Crusades  and 
other  enterprises  less  elevated  had  made  more  fam- 
iliar than  any  other  enemy  to  the  imagination  of  the 
city  of  the  sea,  that  Carpaccio's  story-telling  is  all 
of  this  complexion.  The  German  painter  from  over 
the  Alps  had  his  dreams  of  sweet  Elizabeth,  with 
the  loaves  in  her  lap  which  turned  to  roses,  and  the 
leper  whom  she  laid  in  the  prince's  bed,  when  our 
Venetian  conceived  his  Ursula  forewarned  of  all 
that   must  follow,  leaving  home  and  father  to  con- 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  293 

vert  the  heathen;  or  that  strenuous,  grave  St. 
George,  with  stern,  fierce  eyes  aflame,  cutting  down 
the  monster  who  was  evil  embodied. 

These  were  the  earliest  of  all  heroic  tales  in 
Christendom,  and  Carpaccio's  art  was  that  of  the 
minstrel-historian  as  well  as  the  painter.  He  knew 
how  to  choose  his  incidents  and  construct  his  plot 
like  any  story-teller,  so  that  those,  it  there  were 
any,  in  Venice,  who  did  not  care  for  pictures,  might 
still  be  caught  by  the  interest  of  his  tale,  and  follow 
breathless  the  fortunes  of  the  royal  maiden,  or  that 
great  episode  of  heroic  adventure  which  has  made 
so  many  nations  choose  St.  George  as  their  patron 
saint.  Gentile  Bellini  had  found  out  how  the  as- 
pect of  real  life  and  all  its  accessories  might  be 
turned  to  use  in  art,  and  how  warm  was  the  inter- 
est of  the  spectators  in  the  representation  of  the 
things  and  places  with  which  they  were  most  fami- 
liar; but  Carpaccio  made  a  step  beyond  his  old  mas- 
ter when  he  discovered  that  art  was  able,  not  only 
to  make  an  incident  immortal,  but  to  tell  a  story, 
and  draw  the  very  hearts  of  beholders  out  of  their 
bosoms,  as  sometimes  an  eloquent  friar  in  the  pul- 
pit, or  story-teller  upon  the  Riva,  with  his  group  of 
entranced  listeners,  could  do.  And  having  made 
this  discovery,  though  it  was  already  the  time  of 
the  Renaissance  and  all  the  uncleanly  gods  of  the 
heathen,  with  all  their  fables,  were  coming  back, 
for  the  diversion  and  delight  of  the  licentious  and 
the  learned,  this  painter  sternly  turned  his  back 
upon  all  these  newfangled  interests,  and  entranced 
all  Venice — though  she  loved  pleasure,  and  to  pipe 
and  sing  and  wear  fine  dresses  and  flaunt  in  the 
sunshme — with  the  story  of  the  devoted  princess 
and  her  maiden  train,  and  with  St.  George,  all 
swift  and  fierce  in  youthful  wrath,  slaying  the  old 
dragon,  the  emblem  of  all  ill,  the  devouring 
lust  and  cruelty  whose  ravages  devastated  an  entire 
kingdom  and  devoured  both  man  and  maid. 

But  of  the  man   who  did  this  we  know  nothing, 


294  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

not  even  where  he  was  born  or  where  he  died.  He 
has  been  said  to  belong  to  Istria  because  there  has 
been  found  there  a  family  of  Carpaccio,  among 
whom,  from  time  immemorial,  the  eldest  son  has 
been  called  Victor  or  Vettore;  but  that  this  is  the 
painter's  family  is  a  matter  of  pure  conjecture. 
The  diligent  researches  of  Signer  Molmenti,  who 
has  done  so  much  to  elucidate  Venetian  manners 
and  life,  have  found  in  the  archives  of  a  neighbor- 
ing state  a  letter,  perhaps  the  only  intelligible  trace 
of  Carpaccio  as  an  ordinary  mortal,  and  not  an  in- 
spired painter,  which  is  in  existence.  It  affords  us 
no  revelation  of  high  meaning  or  purpose,  but  only 
a  homely  view  of  a  man  with  no  greater  pretensions 
than  those  of  an  honest  workman  living  on  his 
earnings,  reluctant  to  lose  a  commission  and  eager 
to  recommend  himself  to  a  liberal  and  well-paying 
customer.  It  shows  him  upon  no  elevation  of 
poetic  meaning  such  as  we  might  have  preferred  to 
see :  but,  after  all,  even  in  heroic  days,  there  was 
nothing  contrary  to  inspiration  in  selling  your  pic- 
ture and  commending  yourself  as  much  as  was  in 
you,  to  who  would  buy.  And  it  is  evident  that  Car- 
paccio had  much  confidence  in  the  excellence  of  the 
work  he  had  to  sell  and  felt  that  his  wares  were 
second  to  none.  The  letter  is  addressed  to  the  well 
known  amateur  and  patron  of  artists,  he  who  was 
the  first  to  make  Titian's  fortune,  Francesco  Gon- 
zaga.  Lord  of  Mantua. 

Illustrissimo  Signor  Mio: 

Some  days  ago  a  person,  unknown  to  me,  conducted  by  cer- 
tain others,  came  to  me  to  see  a  "Jerusalem"  which  I  have 
made,  and  as  soon  as  he  had  seen  it,  with  great  pertinacity  in- 
sisted that  I  should  sell  it  to  him,  because  he  felt  it  to  be  a 
thing  out  of  which  he  would  get  great  content  and  satisfac- 
tion. Finally  we  made  a  bargain  by  mutual  agreement,  but 
since  then  I  have  seen  no  more  of  him.  To  clear  up  the  mat- 
ter. I  asked  those  who  had  brought  him,  among  whom  was  a 
priest,  bearded  and  clad  in  gray,  whom  I  had  several  times 
seen  in  the  hall  of  the  Great  Council  with  your  highness ;  of 
whom  asking  his  name  and  condition  I  was  told  that  he  was 
Messer  Laurentio,  painter  to    your  illustrious  highness— by 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  295 

which  I  easily  understood  where  this  person  might  be  found, 
and  accordingly  I  direct  these  presents  to  your  illustrious 
highness  to  make  you  acquainted  with  my  name  as  well  as 
with  the  work  in  question.  First,  signor  mio,  I  am  that 
painter  by  whom  your  illustrious  highness  was  conducted  to 
see  the  pictures  in  the  great  hall,  when  your  illustrious  high- 
ness deigned  to  ascend  the  scaffolding  to  see  our  work,  which 
was  the  story  of  Ancona,  and  my  name  is  Victor  Carpatio. 
Concerning  the  "Jerusalem"  I  take  upon  me  to  say  that  in 
our  times  there  is  not  another  picture  equal  to  it,  not  only  for 
excellence  and  perfection,  but  also  for  size.  The  height  of 
the  picture  is  twenty- five  feet  and  the  width  is  five  feet  and  a 
half,  according  to  the  measure  of  such  things,  and  I  know 
that  of  this  work  Zuane  Zamberti  has  spoken  to  your  sublimity. 
Also  it  is  true,  and  I  know  certainly,  that  the  aforesaid  painter 
belonging  to  your  service,  has  carried  away  a  sketch  incom- 
plete and  of  small  size  which  I  am  sure  will  not  be  to  your 
highness'  satisfaction.  If  it  should  please  your  highness  to 
submit  the  picture  first  to  the  inspection  of  some  judicious 
men,  on  a  word  of  guarantee  being  given  to  me  it  shall  be  at 
your  highness'  disposal.  The  work  is  in  distemper  on  canvas, 
and  it  can  be  rolled  round  a  piece  of  wood  without  any  detri- 
ment. If  it  should  please  you  to  desire  it  in  color,  it  rests  with 
your  illustrious  highness  to  command,  and  to  me  with  pro- 
f  oundest  study  to  execute.  Of  the  price  I  say  nothing,  remit- 
ting it  entirely  to  your  illustrious  highness,  to  whom  I  humbly 
commend  myself  this  fifteenth  day  of  August,  15 ii,  at  Venice. 
Da  V.  Subl.  humilo.  Servitore, 
Victor  Carpathio,  Pictore. 

Whether  the  anxious  painter  got  the  commission, 
or  if  his  sublimity  of  Mantua  thought  the  humble 
missive  beneath  his  notice,  or  if  the  "Jerusalem" 
was  ever  put  into  color  cum  summo  studio,  will  prob- 
ably never  be  known ;  but  here  he  appears  to  us  a 
man  very  open  to  commissions,  eager  for  work, 
probably  finding  the  four  ducats  a  month  of  the 
Signoria  poor  pay,  and  losing  no  opportunity  of 
making  it  up.  But  though  the  painter  is  anxious 
and  conciliatory,  he  does  not  deceive  himself  as  to 
the  excellence  of  his  work.  He  takes  upon  him  to 
say  that  there  is  no  better  picture  to  be  had  in  his 
time,  and  gives  the  measure  of  it  with  simplicity, 
feeling  that  this  test  of  greatness,  at  least,  must  be 
within  his  correspondent's  capacity.  And  one  can* 
not  but  remark,  with  a  smile,  how  this  old  demi-goa 


296  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

of  art  in  the  heroic  age  was  ready  to  forward  his 
picture  to  the  purchaser  rolled  around  a  piece  of 
wood,  as  we  send  the  humble  photograph  nowadays 
by  the  post!  How  great  a  difference!  yet  with 
something  odd  and  touching  of  human  resemblance, 
too. 

Of  the  great  painters  of  the  follov/ing  generation, 
who  raised  the  Venetian  school  to  the  height  of 
glory,  almost  all  who  were  born  subjects  of  the 
republic  passed  through  the  studio  of  the  Bellini. 
The  historians  tell  us  how  young  Giorgio  of  Castel 
Franco  awoke  a  certain  despite  in  the  breast  of  his 
master  by  his  wonderful  progress  and  divination  in 
the  development  of  art — seizing  such  secrets  as 
were  yet  to  discover,  and  conjuring  away  a  certain 
primitive  rigidity  which  still  remained  in  the  work 
of  the  elders;  and  how  young  Tiziano,  from  his 
mountain  village,  entered  into  the  method  of  his 
fellow-pupil,  and  both  together  carried  their  mys- 
tery of  glorious  color  and  easy,  splendid  composition 
to  its  climax  in  Venice.  But  the  feeling  and  criti- 
cism of  the  present  age,  so  largely  influenced  by 
Mr.  Ruskin,  are  rather  disposed  to  pass  that  graad 
perfection  by,  and  return  with  devotion  to  the  sim- 
ple splendor  of  those  three  early  master  who  are 
nearer  to  the  fountain-head  and  retain  a  more  abso- 
lute reality  and  sincerity  in  their  work.  Gentile 
Bellini  painting  behind  and  around  his  miracle  the 
genuine  Venice  which  he  saw,  a  representation  more 
authentic  and  graphic  than  any  that  history  can 
make;  and  Carpaccio  giving  life  and  substance  to 
the  legends  which  embodied  literature  and  poetry 
and  the  highest  symbolical  morals  to  the  people — 
express  the  fact  of  everyday  life  and  the  vision  and 
the  faculty  divine  of  a  high  and  pure  imagination, 
with  a  force  and  intensity  which  are  not  in  their 
more  highly  trained  and  conventionally  perfect  suc- 
cessors. And  as  for  the  third,  in  some  respects  the 
noblest  of  the  three — he  whose  genius  sought  no 
new  path,  who   is  content   with    the  divine  group 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  29l 

which  his  homely  forefathers  had  drawn  and  daubed 
before  him,  but  which  it  was  his  to  set  forth  for  the 
first  time  in  Venice  in  all  the  luster  of  the  new 
method  of  color  which  he  and  his  successors  carried 
to  such  glow  and  splendor  that  all  that  is  most 
brilliant  in  it  is  called  Venetian — where  shall  we 
find  a  more  lovely  image  of  the  Mother  and  the 
Child  than  that  which  he  sets  before  us,  throned  in 
grave  seclusion  in  the  Frari,  humbly  retired  behind 
that  window  in  the  Accademia,  shining  forth  over  so 
many  altars  in  other  places,  in  a  noble  and  modest 
perfection?  Tlie  angel  children  sounding  their  sim- 
ple lutes,  looking  up  with  frank  and  simple  childish 
reverence,  all  sweet  and  human,  to  the  miraculous 
Child,  have  something  in  them  which  is  as  much 
beyond  the  conventional  cherubic  heads  and  artifi- 
cial, ornamented  angels  of  the  later  art  as  heaven  is 
beyond  earth,  or  the  true  tenderness  of  imagination 
beyond  the  fantastic  inventions  of  fiction.  And  if 
Raphael  in  our  days  must  give  way  to  Botticelli, 
with  how  much  greater  reason  should  Titian  in  the 
height  of  art,  all  earthly  splendor  and  voluptuous 
glow,  give  place  to  the  lovely  imaginations  of  old 
Zuan  Bellini,  the  father  of  Venetian  art! 


CHAPTER  II. 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION. 


The  day  of  art  had  now  fully  risen  in  Venice. 
The  dawning  had  been  long ;  progressing  slowly, 
through  all  the  early  efforts  of  decoration  and  orna- 
ment, and  by  the  dim,  religious  light  of  nameless 
masters,  to  the  great  moment  in  which  the  Bellini 
revealed  themselves,  making  Venice  splendid  with 
the  sunrise  of  a  new  faculty,  entirely  congenial  to 
her  temperament  and  desires.  It  would  almost  ap- 
pear as  if  the  first  note,  once  struck,  of  a  new  de- 
parture in  life  or  in  art,  was  enough  to  wake  up  in 


298  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

all  the  regions  within  hearing  the  predestined 
workers,  who,  but  for  that  awaking,  might  have 
slumbered  forever,  or  found  in  other  fields  incom- 
plete development.  While  it  is  beyond  the  range 
of  human  powers  to  determine  what  cause  or 
agency  it  is  which  enables  the  first  fine  genius — the 
Maker,  who  in  every  mode  of  creative  work  is  like 
the  great  priest  of  the  Old  Testament,  without 
father  and  without  mother — to  burst  all  bonds  and 
outstep  all  barriers,  it  is  comparatively  easy  to  trace 
how,  under  his  influence  and  by  the  stimulus  of  a 
sudden  new  impulse  felt  to  be  almost  almost  divine, 
his  successors  may  spring  into  light  and  being. 
Nothing,  to  our  humble  thinking,  explains  the  Bel- 
lini; but  the  Bellini  to  a  certain  extent  explain 
Titian  and  all  the  other  splendors  to  come. 

When  the  thrill  ot  the  new  beginning  had  gone 
through  all  the  air,  mounting  up  among  the  glorious 
peaks  and  snows,  to  Cadore  on  one  side,  and  over 
the  salt-water  countries  and  marshy  plains  on  the 
other  to  Castel  Franco,  two  humble  families  had 
each  received  the  uncertain  blessing  of  a  boy,  who 
took  to  none  of  the  established  modes  of  living,  and 
would  turn  his  thoughts  neither  to  husbandry  nor 
to  such  genteel  trades  as  became  the  members  of  a 
family  of  peasant  nobility,  but  dreamed  and  drew, 
with  whatsoever  material  came  to  their  hands,  upon 
walls  or  other  handy  places.  At  another  epoch  it 
is  likely  enough  that  parental  force  would  have  been 
^employed  to  balk,  for  a  time  at  least,  these  indica- 
jtions  of  youthful  genius;  but  no  doubt  some  of  the 
Vecelli  family,  the  lawyer  uncle  or  the  soldier 
father,  had  some  time  descended  from  his  hilltop  to 
the  great  city  which  lay  gleaming  upon  the  edge  of 
those  great  plains  of  sea  that  wash  the  feet  of  the 
mountains,  and  had  seen  some  wonderful  work  in 
church  or  senate  chamber,  which  made  known  a 
new  possibility  to  him,  and  justified  in  some  sort 
the  attempts  of  the  eager  child.  More  certainly 
still   a  villager  from  the   Trevisano,   carr3''ing  his 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  299 

rural  merchandise  to  market  would  be  led  by  gossip 
in  the  Erberia  to  see  the  new  Madonna  in  San 
Giobbe,  and  ask  himself  whether  by  any  chance 
little  Giorgio,  always  with  that  bit  of  chalk  in  his  fin- 
gers, might  come  to  do  such  a  wonder  as  that  if  the 
boy  had  justice  done  him?  They  came  accordingly, 
with  beating  hearts,  the  two  little  rustics,  each  from 
his  village,  to  Zuan  Bellini's  bottega  in  the  Rialto 
to  learn  their  art.  The  mountain  boy  was  but  ten 
years  old — confided  to  the  care  of  an  uncle  who  lived 
in  Venice;  but  whether  he  went  at  once  into  the 
headquarters  of  the  art  is  unknown,  and  unlikely, 
for  so  young  a  student  could  scarcely  have  been  far 
enough  advanced  to  profit  by  the  instructions  of  the 
greatest  painter  in  Venice.  It  is  supposed  by  some 
that  he  began  his  studies  under  Zuccato,  the  mo- 
saicist,  or  some  humbler  instructor.  But  all  this 
would  seem  mere  conjecture.  Vasari,  his  contem- 
porary and  friend,  makes  no  mention  of  any  pre- 
liminary studies,  but  places  the  boy  at  once  under 
Giovanni  Bellini.  Of  the  young  Barbarella  from 
Castel  Franco  the  same  story  is  told.  He,  too,  was 
brought  to  Venice  by  his  father  and  placed  under 
Bellini's  instruction.  Messrs.  Crowe  and  Cavalca- 
selle  have  confused  these  bare  but  simple  records 
with  theories  of  their  own  respecting  the  influence 
of  Giorgione  upon  Titian,  which  is  such,  they 
think,  or  thought,  as  could  only  have  been  attained 
by  an  elder  over  a  younger  companion,  whereas  all 
the  evidence  goes  to  prove  that  the  two  were  as 
nearly  as  possible  the  same  age,  and  that  they  were 
fellow-pupils,  perhaps  fellow-apprentices,  in  Bel- 
lini's workshop.  We  may,  however,  find  so  much 
reason  for  the  theory  as  this,  that  young  Tiziano 
was  in  his  youth  a  steady  and  patient  worker,  fol- 
lowing all  the  rules  and  discipline  of  his  master,  and 
taking  into  his  capacious  brain  everything  that 
could  be  taught  him,  awaiting  the  moment  when 
he  should  turn  these  stores  of  instruction  to  use  in 
his  own    individual   way;  whereas   young  Giorgio 


800  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

was  more  masterful  and  impatient,  and  with  a 
quicker  eye  and  insight  (having  so  much  less  time 
to  do  his  work  in)  seized  upon  those  points  in  which 
his  genius  could  have  full  play.  Vasari  talks  as  if 
this  brilliant  youth,  with  all  the  fire  of  purpose  in  his 
eyes,  had  blazed  all  of  a  sudden  upon  the  workshop 
in  which  Bellini's  pupils  labored-  Titian  among 
them,  containing  what  new  lights  were  in  him  in 
dutiful  subordination  to  the  spirit  of  the  place — 
"about  the  year  1507,"  with  a  new  gospel  of  color 
and  brightness  scattering  the  clouds  from  the  firma- 
ment. Ridolfi,  on  the  other  hand  describes  him  as 
a  pupil  whom  the  master  looked  upon  with  a  little 
jealousy,  "seeing  the  felicity  with  which  all  things 
were  made  clear  by  this  scholar.  And  certainly," 
adds  the  critic  in  his  involved  and  ponderous 
phraseology,  "it  was  a  wonder  to  see  how  this  boy 
added  to  the  method  of  Bellini  (in  whom  all  the 
beauties  of  painting  had  seemed  conjoined)  such 
grace  and  tenderness  of  color,  as  if  Giorgione,  par- 
ticipating in  that  power  by  which  Nature  mixes 
human  flesh  with  all  the  qualities  of  the  elements, 
harmonized  with  supreme  sweetness  the  shadow  and 
the  light,  and  threw  a  delicate  flush  of  rose  tints 
upon  every  member  through  which  the  blood  flows. " 
Giorgione,  with  his  bolder  impulse  and  that  haste 
which  we  perceive  to  have  been  so  needful  for  his 
short  life,  is  more  apparent  than  his  fellow  student 
in  these  early  years.  When  he  came  out  of  Bel- 
lini's workshop,  his  apprenticeship  done,  he  roamed 
a  little  from  bottega  to  bottega;  painting  now  a  sacred 
picture  for  an  oratory  or  chapel,  now  a  marriage 
chest  or  cabinet.  '' Quadri  di  devotiojie,  ricinti  da 
leitd  e  gabiiietti,''  says  Ridolfi — not  ashamed  to  turn 
his  hand  to  anything  there  might  be  to  do.  Going 
home  afterward  to  his  village,  he  was  received,  the 
same  authority  informs  us,  with  enthusiasm,  as  hav- 
ing made  himself  a  great  man  and  a  painter,  and 
commissions  showered  upon  him.  Perhaps  it  was 
at  Castel   Franco,  amid  the  delight  and  praise  of 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  301 

his  friends,  that  the  young  painter  first  recognized 
fully  his  own  powers.  At  all  events,  when  he  had 
exhausted  their  simple  applauses  and  filled  the  vill- 
age church  and  convent  with  his  work,  he  went  back 
to  Venice,  evidently  with  a  soul  above  the  ricinei  de 
letto,  and  launched  himself  upon  the  world.  His 
purse  was,  no  doubt,  replenished  by  the  work  he 
had  done  at  home;  a  number  of  the  wealthy  neigh- 
bors having  had  themselves  painted  by  little  Giorgio 
— an  opportunity  they  must  have  perceived  that 
might  not  soon  recur.  But  it  was  not  only  for 
work  and  fame  that  he  returned  to  Venice.  He  was 
young,  and  life  was  sweet,  sweeter  there  than  any- 
where else  in  all  the  world ;  full  of  everything  that 
was  beautiful  and  bright.  He  took  a  house  in  the 
Campo  San  Silvestro,  opposite  the  church  of  that 
name,  not  far  from  the  Rialto,  in  the  midst  of  all  the 
joyous  companions  of  his  craft;  and  "by  his  talent 
and  his  pleasant  nature,  "drawing  round  him  a  multi- 
tude of  friends,  lived  there  amid  all  the  delights  of 
youth — dtlettandosi  suoiiar  il  liuto — dividing  his  days 
between  the  arts.  No  gayer  life  nor  one  more  full 
of  pleasure  could  be ;  his  very  work  a  delight,  a  con- 
tinual crowd  of  comrades,  admiring,  imitating, 
urging  him  on,  always  round  him,  every  man  with 
his  ca?tzone  and  his  picture ;  and  all  ready  to  fling 
them  dow^n  at  a  moment's  notice,  and  rush  forth  to 
swell  the  harmonies  on  the  canal,  or  steal  out  upon 
the  lagoon  in  the  retirement  of  the  gondola,  upon 
some  more  secret  adventure.  What  hush  there 
would  be  of  all  the  laughing  commentaries  when  a 
fine  patrician  in  his  sweeping  robes  was  seen  ap- 
proaching across  the  campo,  a  possible  patron;  what 
a  rush  to  the  windows  when,  conscious  perhaps  of 
all  the  eyes  upon  her,  but  without  lifting  her  own, 
some  lovely  Aladonna  wrapped  in  her  veil,  with  her 
following  of  maidens,  would  come  in  a  glor}^  of  silken 
robes  and  jewels  out  of  the  church  door!  ''Per  certo 
suo  decoroso  aspetto  si  detto  Giorgione,''  says  Ridolfi,  but 
perhaps  the  word  decoroso  would  be  out  of  place  ia 


302  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

our  sense  of  it — for  his  delightsome  presence  rather 
and  his  pleasant  ways.  The  Italian  tongue  still 
lends  itself  to  such  caresses,  and  is  capable  of  mak- 
ing the  dear  George,  the  delightful  fellow,  the 
beloved  of  all  his  companions,  into  Giorgione  still. 
And  amid  all  this  babble  of  lutes  and  laughter, 
and  all  the  glow  of  color  and  flush  of  youth,  the 
other  lad  from  the  mountains  would  come  and  go, 
no  less  gay  perhaps  than  any  of  them,  but  working 
on,  with  that  steady  power  of  his,  gathering  to  him- 
self slowly  but  with  an  unerring  instinct  the  new 
principles  which  his  comrade,  all  impetuous  and 
spontaneous,  made  known  in  practice  rather  than  in 
teaching,  making  the  blood  flow  and  the  pulses 
beat  in  every  limb  he  drew.  Young  Tiziano  had 
plodded  through  the  Bellini  system  without  mak- 
ing any  rebellious  outbreak  of  new  ideas  as  Gior- 
gione had  done;  taking  the  good  of  his  master,  so 
far  as  that  master  went,  but  with  his  eyes  open  to 
every  suggestion,  and  ever  ready  to  see  that  his 
comrade  had  expanded  the  old  rule,  and  done  some- 
thing worth  adopting  and  following  in  this  joyful, 
splendid  outburst  of  his.  It  was  in  his  way,  no 
doubt,  that  the  one  youth  followed  the  other,  half 
by  instinct,  by  mingled  sympathy  and  rivalry,  by 
the  natural  contagion  of  a  development  more 
advanced  than  that  which  had  been  the  starting 
point  of  both — confusing  his  late  critics  after  some 
centuries  into  an  attempt  to  prove  that  the  one 
must  have  taught  the  other,  which  was  not  neces- 
sary in  any  formal  way.  Titian  had  ninety  years 
to  live,  and  Nature  worked  in  him  at  leisure,  while 
Giorgione  had  but  a  third  of  that  time,  and  went 
fast;  flinging  about  what  genius  and  power  of  in- 
struction there  were  in  him  with  careless  liberality; 
not  thinking  whether  from  any  friendly  comrade 
about  him  he  received  less  than  he  gave.  Perhaps 
the  same  unconscious  hurry  of  life,  perhaps  only 
his  more  impetuous  temper,  induced  him,  when 
work  flagged  and  commissions  were  slow  of  coming 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  303 

in,  to  turn  his  hand  to  the  front  of  his  own  house 
and  paint  that,  in  default  of  more  profitable  work. 
It  was,  no  doubt,  the  best  of  advertisements  for  the 
young  painter.  On  the  higher  story,  in  which  most 
probably  he  lived,  he  covered  the  walls  with  figures 
of  musicians  and  poets  with  their  lutes,  and  with 
groups  of  boys,  the  putti  ^o  dear  to  Venice,  as  well- 
as  altra  fantasie,  and  historic  scenes  of  more  pre- 
tension which  were  the  subject  of  "a  learned  eulogy 
by  Signor  Jacopo  Pighetti,  and  a  celebrated  poem 
by  Signor  Paolo  Vendramin, "  says  Ridolfi.  The 
literary  tributes  have  perished,  and  so  have  the 
frescoes,  although  the  spectator  may  still  see  some 
faded  traces  of  Giorgione's/^^//^' upon  the  walls  of 
his  house;  but  they  answered  what,  no  doubt,  was 
at  least  one  of  their  purposes  by  attracting  the 
attention  of  the  watchful  city,  ever  ready  to  see 
what  beautiful  work  was  being  done.  It  was  at 
this  moment  that  the  Fondaco  d'  Tedeschi,  the 
German  factory,  so  to  speak,  on  the  edge  of  the 
Grand  Canal,  was  rebuilding;  a  great  house  want- 
ing decoration.  The  jealous  authorities  of  the 
republic,  for  some  reason  one  fails  to  see,  had 
forbidden  the  use  of  architectural  ornamentation  in 
the  new  building,  which,  all  the  same,  was  their  own 
building,  not  the  property  of  the  Germans.  Had 
it  belonged  to  the  foreigner  there  might  have  been 
a  supposable  cause  in  the  necessity  for  keeping 
these  aliens  down,  and  preventing  any  possible  em- 
ulation with  native  born  Venetians.  We  can  only 
suppose  that  this  was  actually  the  reason,  and  that, 
even  in  the  house  which  Venice  built  for  them, 
these  traders  were  not  to  be  permitted  to  look  as 
fine  or  feel  as  magnificent  as  their  hosts  and  supe- 
riors. But  a  great  house  with  four  vast  walls,  cap- 
able of  endless  decoration,  and  nothing  done  to 
them,  would  probably  have  raised  a  rebellion  in 
the  city,  or  at  least  among  the  swarms  ot  painters  on 
the  other  side  of  the  Rialto,  gazing  at  it  with  hungry 
eyes.      So  it  was  conceded  by  the  authorities^that 


304  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

this  square,  undecorated  house — a  singularly  unin- 
teresting block  of  buildings  to  stand  on  such  a  site 
— should  be  painted  at  least  to  harmonize  in  so  far 
with  its  neighbors.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that 
this  was  the  first  piece  of  work  on  which  Titian  had 
been  engaged.  No  doubt  he  had  already  produced 
his  tale  of  Madonnas,  with  a  few  portraits,  to  make 
him  known.  But  he  steps  into  sight  for  the  first 
time  publicly  when  we  hear  that  the  wall  on  the 
landside,  the  street  front,  was  allotted  to  him,  while 
the  side  toward  the  canal  was  confided  to  Giorgione. 
Perhaps  the  whole  building  was  put  into  Gior- 
gione's  hands,  and  part  of  the  work  confided  by  him 
to  his  comrade ;  at  all  events,  they  divided  it  between 
them.  Every  visitor  to  Venice  is  aware  of  the  faint 
and  faded  figure  high  up  in  the  right-hand  corner 
disappearing,  as  all  its  neighboring  glories  have 
disappeared,  which  is  the  last  remnant  of  Gior- 
gione's  work  upon  the  canal  front  of  this  great, 
gloomy  house.  Of  Titian's  group  over  the 
great  doorway  in  the  street  there  remains 
nothing  at  all;  the  sea  breezes  and  the  keen 
air  have  carried  all  these  beautiful  things 
away.  In  respect  to  these  frescoes,  Vasari 
tells  one  anecdote  which  is  natural  and  character- 
istic, and  may  indicate  the  point  at  which  these  two 
young  men  detached  themselves,  and  took  each  his 
separate  way.  He  narrates  how  "many  gentle- 
men," not  being  aware  of  the  division  of  labor,  met 
Giorgione  on  the  evening  of  the  day  on  which  Titian 
had  uncovered  a  portion  of  his  work,  and  crowded 
round  him  with  their  congratulations,  assuring  him 
that  he  had  never  done  anything  so  fine,  and  that 
the  front  toward  the  Merceria  quite  excelled  the 
river  front!  Giorgione  was  so  indignant,  sentiva 
tanto  sdegno,  at  this  unlucky  compliment  that,  until 
Titian  had  finished  the  work  and  it  had  become 
well  known  which  portion  of  it  was  his,  the  sensi- 
tive painter  showed  himself  no  more  in  public,  and 
from  that  moment  would  neither  see   Titian  nor 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  305 

acknowledge  him  as  a  friend.  Ridolfi  tells  the  same 
story,  with  the  addition  that  it  was  a  conscious  mis- 
take made  maliciously  by  certain  comrades,  who 
feigned  not  to  know  who  had  painted  the  great 
"Judith"  over  the  door. 

This  is  not  a  history  of  the  Venetian  painters, 
nor  is  it  necessary  to  follow  the  life  and  labors  of 
these  two  brilliant  and  splendid  successors  of  the 
first  masters  in  our  city.  Whether  it  was  by  the 
distinct  initiative  of  Giorgione  in  painting  his  own 
house  that  the  habit  of  painting  Venetian  houses  in 
general  originated,  or  whether  it  was  only  one  of 
the  ever  increasing  marks  of  luxury  and  display, 
we  do  not  pretend  to  decide.  At  all  events,  it  was 
an  expedient  of  this  generation  to  add  to  the  glory 
of  the  city  and  the  splendid  aspect  which  she  bore. 
The  nobler  dignit}^  of  the  ancient  architecture  had 
already  been  partially  lost,  or  no  longer  pleased  in 
its  gravity  and  stateliness  the  race  which  loved  color 
and  splendor  in  all  things.  A  whole  city  glowing 
in  crimson  and  gold,  with  giant  forms  starting  up 
along  every  wall,  and  sweet  groups  of  cherub  boys 
tracing  every  course  of  stone,  and  the  fables  of 
Greece  and  Rome  taking  form  upon  every  facade, 
must  have  been,  no  doubt,  a  wonderful  sight.  The 
reflections  in  the  Grand  Canal,  as  it  flowed  between 
these  pictured  palaces,  must  have  left  little  room 
for  sky  or  atmosphere  in  the  midst  of  that  dazzling 
confusion  of  brilliant  tints  and  images.  And  every 
campo  must  have  lent  its  blaze  of  color,  to  put  the 
sun  himself  to  shame.  But  we  wonder  whether  it 
is  to  be  much  regretted  that  the  sun  and  the  winds 
have  triumphed  in  the  end  and  had  their  will  of 
those  fine  Venetian  houses.  Among  so  many  losses 
this  is  the  one  for  which  I  feel  the  least  regret. 

It  is  recorded  among  the  expenses  of  the  republic 
in  December,  1508,  that  150  ducats  were  paid  to 
Zorzi  da  Castel  Franco  for  his  work  upon  the 
Fondaco,  in  which,  according  to  this  business-like 
record,  Victor  Carpaccio  had  also  some  share;   but 

20  Venice 


306  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

this  is  the  only  indication  of  the  fact,  and  the  total 
disappearance  of  the  work  makes  all  other  inquiry 
impossible. 

By  this  time,  however,  Giorgione's  brief  and  gay 
life  was  approaching  its  end.  That  stormy,  joyous 
existence,  so  full  of  work,  so  full  of  pleasure,  as 
warm  in  color  as  were  his  pictures,  and  pushed  to  a 
hasty  perfection,  all  at  once,  without  the  modesty 
of  any  slow  beginning,  ended  suddenly  as  it  had 
begun.  Vasari  has  unkindly  attributed  his  early 
death  to  the  disorders  of  his  life ;  but  his  other 
biographers  are  more  sympathetic.  Ridolfi  gives 
two  different  accounts,  both  popularly  current;  one 
that  he  caught  the  plague  from  a  lady  he  loved;  the 
other,  that  being  deserted  by  his  love  he  died  of 
grief,  7ion  trovando  altro  remedio.  In  either  case  the 
impetuous  young  painter,  amid  his  early  successes 
— more  celebrated  than  any  of  his  compeers,  the 
leader  among  his  comrades,  the  only  one  of  them 
who  had  struck  into  an  individual  path,  developing 
the  lessons  of  Bellini — died  in  the  midst  of  his  loves 
and  pleasures  at  the  age  of  thirty- four,  not  having 
yet  reached  the  mezzo  del  ca?nmi?i  di  7iostra  vita^ 
which  Dante  had  attained  when  his  greatwork  began. 

This  was  in  the  year  151 1,  only  three  years  after 
the  completion  of  his  work  at  the  Fondaco,  and 
while  old  Zuan  Bellini  was  still  alive  and  at  work, 
in  his  robust  old  age,  seeing  his  impetuous  pupil 
out.  It  was  one  of  the  many  years  in  which  the 
plague  visited  Venice,  carrying  consternation 
through  the  gay  and  glowing  streets.  It  is  said 
that  Giorgione  was  working  in  the  hall  of  the  Great 
Council,  among  the  other  painters,  at  the  picture  in 
which  the  emperor  is  represented  as  kissing  the 
Pope's  foot,  at  the  time  of  his  death.  At  all  events, 
he  had  lived  long  enough  to  make  his  fame  great  in 
the  city,  and  to  leave  examples  of  his  splendid  work 
in  many  of  the  other  great  cities  of  Italy,  as  well  as 
in  his  own  little  borgo  at  Caste!  Franco,  where  still 
they  are  the  pride  and  glory  of  the  little  town. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  307 

It  would  almost  seem  as  if  it  were  only  after  the 
death  of  Giorgione  that  Titian  began  to  be  esti- 
mated at  his  just  value.  The  one  had  given  the 
impulse,  the  other  had  received  it,  and  Vasari  does 
not  hesitate  to  call  Titian  the  pupil  of  his  contem- 
porary, though  not  in  the  formal  sense  attached  to 
the  word  by  modern  writers,  notwithstanding  the 
fact  that  they  were  of  the  same  age.  Ridolfi's 
formal  yet  warm  enthusiasm  for  the  painter  ''to 
whom  belong  perpetual  praise  and  honor,  since  he 
has  become  a  light  to  all  those  who  come  after 
him,"  assigns  to  Giorgione  a  higher  place  than  that 
which  the  spectator  of  to-day  will  probably  think 
justified.  His  master,  Bellini,  appeals  more  warmly 
to  the  heart;  his  pupil,  Titian,  filled  a  much  greater 
place  in  the  world  and  in  art.  But  "it  is  certain," 
says  the  historian  and  critic  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury, with  a  double  affirmation,  "that  Giorgio  was 
without  doubt  the  first  who  showed  the  good  way  in 
painting,  fitting  himself  \approssi-nia?idosi\  by  the 
mixture  of  his  colors  to  express  with  facility  the 
works  of  nature,  concealing  as  much  as  possible 
the  difficulties  to  be  encountered  in  working,  which 
is  the  chief  point;  so  that  in  the  flesh  tints  of  this 
ingenious  painter  the  innumerable  shades  of  gray, 
orange,  blue,  and  other  such  colors,  customarily 
used  by  some,  are  absent.  .  .  The  artificers  who 
followed  him,  with  the  example  before  them  of  his 
works,  acquired  the  facility  and  true  method  of 
color  by  which  so  much  progress  was  made. " 

The  works  of  Giorgione,  however,  are  compara- 
tively few;  his  short  life,  and  perhaps  the  mirth  of 
it,  the  sounding  of  the  lute,  the  joyous  company, 
and  all  the  delights  of  that  highly  colored  existence 
restrained  the  splendid  productiveness  which  was 
characteristic  of  his  art  and  age.  And  yet  perhaps 
this  suggestion  does  the  painter  injustice;  for  amid 
all  those  diversions,  and  the  ceaseless  round  of 
loves  and  festivities,  the  list  of  work  done  is  always 
astonishing.     Many    of   his  works,  however,  were 


308  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

frescoes,  and  the  period  in  which  he  and  Titia.. 
were,  as  Mr.  Ruskin  says,  house-painters,  was  the 
height  of  his  genius.  The  sea  air  and  the  keen 
tramoniana  have  thus  swept  away  much  that  was 
the  glory  of  the  young  painter's  life. 

The  moment  at  which  Titian  appears  publicly  on 
the  stage,  so  to  speak,  of  the  great  hall,  called  to 
aid  in  the  work  going  on  there,  was  not  till  two 
years  after  the  death  of  his  companion.  Whether 
Giorgione  kept  his  hasty  word  and  saw  no  more  of 
him  after  that  unfortunate  compliment  about  the 
"Judith"  over  the  doorway  of  the  Fondaco  we  are 
not  told;  but  it  was  not  until  after  the  shadow  of 
that  impetuous,  youthful  genius  had  been  removed 
that  the  other,  the  patient  and  thoughtful,  who  had 
not  reached  perfection  in  a  burst,  but  by  much 
consideration  and  comparison  and  exercise  of  the 
splendid  faculty  of  work  that  was  in  him,  came 
fully  into  the  light.  Messrs.  Crowe  and  Caval- 
caselle  make  much  of  certain  disputes  and  intrigues 
that  seem  to  have  surrounded  this  appointment,  and 
point  out  that  it  was  given  and  withdrawn,  and 
again  conferred  upon  Titian,  according  a  s  his 
friends  or  those  of  the  older  painters  were  in  the 
ascendant  in  the  often  changed  combinations  of 
power  in  Venice.  Their  attempts  to  show  that  old 
Zuan  Bellini,  the  patriarch  of  the  art,  schemed 
against  his  younger  rival,  and  endeavored  to  keep 
him  out  of  state  patronage  are  happily  supported 
by  no  documents,  but  are  merely  an  inference  from 
the  course  of  events,  which  show  certain  waverings 
and  uncertainties  in  the  bargain  between  the  Sig- 
noria  and  the  painter.  The  manner  in  which  this 
bargain  was  made,  and  in  which  the  money  was 
provided  to  pay  for  the  work  of  Titian  and  his  asso- 
ciates, is  very  characteristic  and  noticeable.  After 
much  uncertainty  as  to  what  were  the  intentions  of 
the  Signoria,  the  painter  received  an  invitation 
to  go  to  Rome  through  Pietro  Bembo,  which,  how- 
ever bona  fide  in  itself,  was  probably  intended   to 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  309 

bring  matters  to  a  crisis,  and  show  the  authorities, 
who  had  not  as  yet  secured  the  services  of  the  most 
promising  of  all  the  younger  artists  then  left  in 
Venice,  that  their  decision  must  be  made  at  once, 
Titian  brings  the  question  before  them  with  much 
firmness — will  they  have  him  or  not?  must  he  turn 
aside  to  the  service  of  the  Pope  instead  of  entering 
that  of  the  magnificent  Signoria,  which,  "desirous 
of  fame  rather  than  of  profit,"  he  would  prefer? 
Pressing  for  a  decision,  he  then  sets  forth  the  pay 
and  position  for  which  he  is  willing  to  devote  his 
powers  to  the  public  service.  These  are :  The  first 
brokership  that  shall  be  vacant  in  the  Fondaco  de' 
Tedeschi,  "irrespective  of  all  promised  reversions 
of  such  patent,"  and  the  maintenance  of  two  pupils 
as  his  assistants,  to  be  paid  by  the  salt  office,  which 
also  is  to  provide  all  colors  and  necessaries  required 
in  their  work.  The  curious  complication  of  state 
affairs  which  thus  mixes  up  the  most  uncongenial 
branches,  and  defrays  the  expenses  of  this,  the 
supremest  luxury  of  the  state,  out  of  the  tarry  purse 
of  its  oldest  and  rudest  industry,  is  very  remarka- 
ble ;  and  the  bargain  has  a  certain  surreptitious  air, 
as  if  even  the  magnificent  Signoria  did  not  care  to 
confess  how  much  their  splendors  cost.  If  our  own 
government,  ashamed  to  put  into  their  straightfor- 
ward budget  the  many  thousands  expended  on  the 
purchase  of  the  Blenheim  "Madonna,"  had  added 
it  in  with  the  accounts  of  the  inland  revenue,  it 
would  be  an  operation  somewhat  similar.  But  such 
balancings  and  mutual  compensations,  robbing 
Peter  to  pay  Paul,  were  common  in  those  days. 
The  brokership,  however,  is  about  as  curious  an 
expedient  for  the  pay  of  a  painter  as  could  be 
devised.  The  German  merchants  were  forbidden  to 
trade  without  the  assistance  of  such  an  official,  and 
the  painter  of  course  fulfilled  the  duties  of  the  office 
by  deputy.  It  affords  an  amazing  suggestion, 
indeed,  to  think  of  old  Bellini,  or  our  magnificent 
young  Titian,  crossing   the  Rialto  by  the  side  of 


310  THE   MAKERS  OF  VENIC£. 

some  homely  Teuton  with  his  samples  in  his  pocket, 
to  drive  a  noisy  bargain  in  the  crowded  Piazza 
round  San  Giacomo,  where  all  the  merchants  con- 
gregated. But  the  expedient  was  perfectly  natural 
to  the  times  in  which  they  lived,  and,  indeed,  such 
resources  have  not  long  gone  out  of  use  even  among 
ourselves. 

Titian's  proposal  was  accepted,  then  modified, 
and  finally  received  and  established, with  the  odious 
addition  that  the  broker's  place  to  be  given  to  him 
was  not  simply  the  first  vacancy,  but  the  vacancy 
which  should  occur  at  the  death  of  Zuan  Bellini, 
then  a  very  old  man,  and  naturally  incapable  of 
holding  it  long.  This  brutal  method  of  indicating 
that  one  day  was  over  and  another  begun,  and  of 
pushing  the  old  monarch  from  his  place,  throws  an 
unfavorable  light  upon  the  very  pushing  and  prac- 
tical young  painter,  who  was  thus  determined  to 
have  his  master's  seat. 

When  Bellini  died, in  1 516, it  is  gratifying  to  know 
that  there  was  still  some  difficulty  about  the  mat- 
ter, other  promises  apparently  having  been  made, 
and  other  expectations  raised  as  to  the  vacant  brok- 
ership.  Finally,  however,  Titian's  claim  was 
allowed,  and  he  entered  into  possession  of  the  in- 
come about  which  he  had  been  so  eager.  He  then 
established  himself  at  San  Samuele,  abandoning,  it 
would  seem,  the  old  center  of  life  at  the  Rialto 
where  all  the  others  had  been  content  to  live  and 
labor.  It  was  like  a  migration  from  the  business 
parts  of  the  town  to  those  of  fashion,  or  at  least 
gentility;  and  perhaps  this  change  showed  already 
a  beginning  of  pretension  to  the  higher  social  posi- 
tion which  Titian,  in  his  later  days  at  least,  evi- 
dently enjoyed.  They  were  noble  in  their  rustic 
way  up  at  Cadore,  and  he  who  was  presently  to 
stand  before  kings  probably  assumed  already  some- 
thing more  of  dignity  than  was  natural  to  the  son 
of  painters,  or  to  the  village  genius  who  is  known 
to  posterity  only  by  his  Christian  name. 


THE   MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  311 

Another  day  had  now  dawned  upon  the  studios 
and  workshops.  The  reign  of  the  Bellini  was  over 
and  that  of  Titian  had  begun.  Of  his  contempo- 
raries and  disciples  we  cannot  undertake  any 
account.  The  nearest  in  association  and  influence 
to  the  new  master  was  the  gentle  Palma,  with  all 
the  silvery  sweetness  of  color  which,  so  far  as  the 
critics  know,  he  had  found  for  himself  in  his  village 
on  the  plains,  or  acquired  somehow  by  the  grace 
of  heaven,  no  master  having  the  credit  of  them. 
Some  of  these  authorities  believe  that,  from  this 
modest  and  delightful  painter,  Titian,  all  acquisi- 
tive, gained  something  too;  so  much  as  to  be  almost 
a  pupil  of  the  master  who  is  so  much  less  great 
than  himself.  And  that  is  possible  enough,  tor  it 
is  evident  that  Titian,  like  Moliere,  took  his  goods 
where  he  found  them,  and  lost  no  occasion  for 
instruction,  whoever  supplied  it.  He  was,  at  all 
events  for  some  time,  much  linked  with  Palma, 
whose  daughter  was  long  supposed  to  be  the  favor- 
ite model  of  both  these  great  painters.  The  splen- 
did women  whom  they  loved  to  paint,  and  who  now 
stepped  in,  as  may  be  said,  into  the  world  of  fancy, 
a  new  and  radiant  group,  with  the  glorious  hair 
upon  which  both  these  masters  expended  so  much 
skill,  so  that  "every  thread  might  be  counted," 
Vasari  says,  represent,  as  imagination  hopes,  the 
women  of  that  age,  the  flower  of  Venice  at  her 
highest  perfection  of  physical  magnificence.  So,  at 
least,  the  worshiper  of  Venice  believes;  finding  in 
those  grand  forms,  and  in  their  opulence  of  color 
and  natural  endowment,  something  harmonious 
with  the  character  of  the  race  and  time.  From  the 
same  race,  though  with  a  higher  inspiration,  Bellini 
had  drawn  his  Madonnas,  with  stately  throats  like 
columns  and  a  noble  amplitude  of  form.  There  is 
still  much  beauty  in  Venice,  but  not  of  this  splendid 
kind.  The  women  have  dwindled,  if  they  were 
ever  like  Violante.  But  she  and  her  compeers  have 
taken  their  place  as  the  fit  representatives  of  that 


312  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

age  of  splendor  and  luxury.  When  we  turn  to 
records  less  imaginative,  however,  the  ladies  ot 
Venice  appear  to  us  under  a  different  guise.  They 
are  attired  in  cloth  of  gold,  in  brocaded  silks  and 
velvets,  with  cords,  fringes,  pendants,  and  em- 
broidery in  gold,  silver,  pearls,  and  precious  stones; 
"even  their  shoes  richly  ornamented  with  gold," 
Sanudo  tells  us;  but  they  are  feeble  and  pale,  prob- 
ably because  of  their  way  of  living,  shut  up  indoors 
the  greater  part  of  their  time,  and  when  they  go  out, 
tottering  upon  heels  so  high  that  walking  is  scarcely 
possible,  and  the  unfortunate  ladies  in  their  gran- 
deur have  to  lean  upon  the  shoulders  of  their  ser- 
vants (or  slaves)  to  avoid  accident.  Their  heels 
were  at  least  half  the  Milanese  braccio  in  height 
(more  than  nine  inches),  says  another  authority. 
Imagination  refuses  to  conceive  the  wonderful  lady 
who  lives  in  Florence,  the  "Bella"  of  Titian,  in  all 
her  magnificent  apparel,  thus  hobbling  on  a  species 
of  stilts  about  the  streets,  supported  by  one  of  those 
grinning  negroes  whose  memory  is  preserved  in  the 
parti-colored  figures  in  black  and  colored  marble 
which  pleased  the  taste  of  a  later  age.  Such,  how- 
ever, were  the  shoes  worn  in  those  very  days  of 
Bellini  and  Carpaccio  which  the  great  art  critic  of 
our  time  points  out  as  so  much  nobler  than  our  own  \ 
even  pausing  in  his  beautiful  talk  to  throw  a  little 
malicious  dart  aside  as  modern  English  (or  Scotch) 
maidens  in  high  heeled  boots.  The  nineteenth  cen- 
tury has  not  after  all  deteriorated  so  very  much 
from  the  fifteenth,  for  the  veriest  Parisian  abhorred 
of  the  arts  has  never  yet  attempted  to  poise  upon 
heels  half  a  braccio  in  height. 

These  jeweled  clogs,  however,  which,  if  memory 
does  not  deceive  us,  are  visible  on  the  floor  in  Car- 
paccio's  picture  of  the  two  Venetian  ladies  in  the 
Museo  Correr,  so  much  praised  by  Mr.  Ruskin, 
were  part  of  the  universal  ornamentation  of  the 
times.  The  great  wealth  of  Venice  showed  itself  in 
every  kind  of  decorative  work,   designed  in  some 


THE  MAKER'S  OF  VENICE.  313 

cases  rather  b)^  skill  than  by  common  sense.  The 
Venetian  houses  were  not  only  painted  without, 
throwing  abroad  a  surplus  splendor  to  all  the 
searching  of  the  winds,  but  were  all  glorious  within, 
as  in  the  Psalms,  the  furniture  carved  and  gilded, 
the  curtains  made  of  precious  stuff,  the  chimney- 
pieces  decorated  with  the  finest  pictures,  the  beds- 
magnificent  with  golden  embroidery  and  brocaded 
pillows,  the  very  sheets  edged  with  delicate  work 
in  gold  thread.  When  Giorgione  opened  his  studio, 
setting  up  in  business,  so  to  speak,  he  painted  ward- 
robes, spinning  wheels,  and  more  particularly 
chests,  the  wedding  coffers  of  the  time,  of  which  so 
many  examples  remain;  and — a  fact  which  takes 
away  the  hearer's  breath— when  Titian  painted  that 
noble  pallid  Christ  of  the  Tribute  money,  he  did  it, 
oh!  heavens,  on  a  cabinet;  a  fact  which,  though 
the  cabinet  was  in  the  study  of  Alfonso  of  Ferrara, 
strikes  us  with  a  sensation  of  horror.  Only  a  prince 
could  have  his  furniture  painted  with  such  work ; 
but,  no  doubt,  in  Titian's  splendid  age  there  might 
be  many  armari,  armoires — aumries,  as  they  were 
once  called  in  Scotland — with  bits  of  his  youthful 
work,  and  glowing  panels  painted  by  Giorgione  on 
the  mantel-pieces  to  be  found  in  theVenetian  houses. 
This  was  the  way  of  living  of  the  young  painters, 
by  which  they  cam.e  into  knowledge  of  the  world. 
Perhaps  the  doors  of  the  wardrobe  in  a  friend's 
house,  or  the  panels  over  the  fireplace,  might  catch 
the  eye  of  one  of  the  Savii,  now  multiplied  past 
counting  in  every  office  of  the  state,  who  would 
straightway  exert  himself  to  have  a  space  in  the 
next  church  allotted  to  the  young  man  to  try  his 
powers  on;  when,  if  there  was  anything  in  him,  he 
had  space  and  opportunity  to  show  it,  and  prove 
himself  worthy  of  still  higher  promotion.  It  would 
seem,  however,  that  Titian  was  not  much  appre- 
ciated by  his  natural  patrons  during  all  the  begin- 
ning of  his  career.  There  is  no  name  of  fondness 
tor  him   such  as  there  was  for  Giorgio  of  Castel 


314  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

Franco.  Was  it  perhaps  that  these  keen  Venetians, 
who,  notwithstanding  that  failure  ot  religious  faith 
with  which  they  are  suddenly  discredited,  and  which 
is  supposed  to  lie  at  the  root  of  all  decadence  in  art, 
perceived  that  in  the  kind  of  pictures  they  most 
desired  something  was  wanting  which  had  not  been 
wanting  either  in  the  Madonnas  of  Bellini  or  the 
saints  of  Carpaccio  —  a  something  higher  than 
manipulation,  more  lovely  than  the  loveliest  color  of 
the  new  method?  These  sacred  pictures  might  be 
beautiful,  but  they  were  not  divine.  The  soul  had 
gone  out  of  them.  That  purity  and  wholesome 
grace  which  was  in  every  one  of  old  Zuan's  Holy 
Families  had  stolen  miraculously  out  ot  Titian,  just 
as  it  had  stolen  miraculously  in,  no  one  knowing 
how,  to  the  works  of  the  elder  generation.  If  this 
was  the  case  indeed  it  was  an  effect  only  partially 
produced  by  the  works  of  the  young  master,  for  his 
portraits  were  all  alight  with  life  and  meaning,  and 
in  other  subjects  from  his  hand  there  was  no  lack  of 
truth  and  energy.  Whatever  the  cause  might  be, 
it  is  clear  however  that  he  was  not  popular,  though 
the  acknowledged  greatest  of  all  the  younger 
painters.  It  was  only  the  possibility  of  seeing  his 
services  transferred  to  the  Pope  that  procured  his 
admission  to  the  privileges  of  state  employment; 
and  it  was  after  his  fame  had  been  echoed  from  Fer- 
rara  and  Bologna  and  Rome,  and  by  the  great  em- 
peror himself — the  magnificent  patron  who  picked 
up  his  brush,  and  with  sublime  condescension 
declared  that  a  Titian  might  well  be  served  by  Caesar 
— that  the  more  critical  and  fastidious  Venetians,  or 
perhaps  it  might  only  be  the  more  prejudiced  and 
hardly  judging,  gave  way  to  the  strong  current  of 
opinion  in  his  favor,  and  began  to  find  him  a  credit 
to  Venice.  As  soon  as  this  conviction  became  gen- 
eral the  tide  of  public  feeling  changed,  and  the 
republic  became  proud  of  the  man  who,  amid  all  the 
disasters  that  began  to  disturb  her  complacence  and 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  315 

interrupt  her  prosperity,  had  done  her  credit  and 
added  to  her  fame. 

It  is  evident,  however,  that  even  when  he  finally 
got  his  chance,  and  painted,  for  the  church  of  the 
Frari,  the  magnificent  "Assumption"  which  occu- 
pies now  a  kind  of  throne  in  the  Accademia  as  if  in 
some  sort  the  sovereign  of  Venice,  doubts  pursued 
him  to  the  end  of  his  work.  Fra  Marco  Jerman  or 
Germano,  the  head  of  the  convent,  who  had  ordered 
it  at  his  own  expense  and  fitted  it,  when  completed, 
into  a  fine  framework  of  marble  for  the  high  altar, 
had  many  a  criticism  to  make  during  the  frequent 
anxious  visits  he  paid  to  the  painter  at  his  work. 
Titian  was  troubled  indeed  by  ali  the  ignorant 
brethren  coming  and  going,  molestato  dalle  freque?iti 
visite  loro,  and  hy  il  poco  loro  intendimento,  their  small 
understanding  of  the  necessities  of  art.  They  were 
all  of  the  opinion  that  the  Apostles  in  the  fore- 
ground were  too  large,  di  troppo  smisuraia  grandezza, 
and  though  he  took  no  small  trouble  to  persuade 
them  that  the  figures  must  be  in  proportion  to  the 
vastness  of  the  space,  and  the  position  which  the 
picture  was  to  occupy,  yet  nevertheless  the  monks 
continued  to  grumble  and  shake  their  heads,  and 
make  their  observations  to  each  other  under  their 
hoods,  doubting  even  whether  the  picture  was  good 
enough  to  be  accepted  at  all,  after  all  the  fuss  that 
had  been  made  about  it,  and  the  painter-fellow's 
occupation  of  their  church  itself  as  his  painting 
room.  The  ignorant  are  often  the  most  difficult  to 
please.  But  the  condition  of  the  doubting  convent, 
with  no  confidence  in  its  own  jtidgment,  and  a 
haunting  terror  lest  Venice  should  sneer  or  jeer 
when  the  picture  was  uncovered,  is  comprehensible 
enough.  Titian,  it  is  evident,  had  not  even  now 
attained  such  an  assured  position  as  would  justify 
his  patrons  in  any  certainty  of  the  excellence  of  his 
work.  He  was  still  on  his  promotion,  with  no  set- 
tled conviction  in  the  minds  of  the  townsfolk  as  to 
his  genius  and  power.      No  doubt  the  brethren  alj 


316  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

though  that  their  guardiano  had  done  a  rash  thing  in 
engaging  him,  and  Fra  Marco  himself  trembled  at 
the  thought  of  the  mistake  he  might  perhaps  have 
made.  It  was  not  until  the  emperor's  envoy, 
already,  it  is  evident,  a  strong  partisan  of  Titian, 
and  bringing  to  his  work  an  eye  unclouded  by  local 
prepossessions,  declared  that  the  picture  was  a  mar- 
velous picture,  and  offered  a  large  sum  if  they  would 
give  it  up,  in  order  that  he  might  send  it  to  his  mas- 
ter, that  the  /rati  began  to  think  it  might  be  better 
perhaps  to  hold  by  their  bargain.  "Upon  which 
offer,"  says  Ridolfi,  ''the  fathers  in  their  chapter 
decided,  after  the  opinion  of  the  most  prudent,  not 
to  give  up  the  picture  to  anyone;  recognizing  fin- 
ally that  art  was  not  their  profession,  and  that  the 
use  of  the  breviary  did  not  convey  an  understand- 
ing of  painting." 

It  is  curious  to  find  that  Vasari  makes  no  particu- 
lar note  of  this  picture  except  to  say  that  it  cannot 
be  well  seen  (that  is,  in  its  original  position  in  the 
Frari),  and  that  Marco  Sanudo,  in  recording  its 
first  exhibition,  mentions  the  frame  as  if  it  was  a 
thing  quite  as  important  as  the  picture.  Such  is 
the  vagueness  of  contemporary  opinion.  It  seems, 
at  all  events,  to  have  been  the  first  picture  of 
Titian's  which  at  all  struck  the  imagination  of  his 
time.  By  this  time,  however,  he  had  begun  to  be 
courted  by  foreign  potentates,  and  it  is  evident  that 
his  hands  were  very  full  of  commissions,  and  that 
some  shiftiness  and  many  of  the  expedients  of  the 
dilatory  and  unpunctual  were  in  his  manner  of  deal- 
ing with  his  patrons,  to  whom  he  was  very  humble 
in  his  letter,  but  not  very  faithful  in  his  promises. 
And  now  that  he  has  reached  the  full  maturity  of 
power,  Titian  unfolds  to  us  a  view,  not  so  much  of 
Venice,  as  of  a  corrupt  and  luxurious  society  in 
Venice,  which  is  of  a  very  different  character  from 
the  simplicities  of  his  predecessors  in  art.  Even 
young  Giorgione's  gay  dissipations,  his  love  of  lute 
and  song,  his  pretensions  to  gallantry  and  finery, 


Tim  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  3it 

mischiante  sempre  amove  with  all  his  doing-s,  have  a 
boyish  and  joyous  sweetness,  in  comparison  with 
the  much  more  luxurious  life  in  which  we  now  find 
his  old  companion;  the  vile  society  of  the  Aretino 
who  flattered  and  intrigued  for  him,  and  led  Titian, 
too,  not  unwilling,  to  intrigue  and  flatter  and  some- 
times betray.  Perhaps  at  no  time  had  there  been 
much  virtue  and  purity  to  boast  of  in  the  career  of 
the  painter  who  had  half  forced  the  Signoria  into 
giving  him  his  appointment,  and  seized  upon  old 
Zuan  Bellini's  office  before  he  was  dead;  then  dal- 
lied with  the  work  he  seemed  so  eager  to  under- 
take, and  left  it  hanging  on  hand  for  years.  But 
the  arrival  of  Pietro  Aretino  in  Venice  seems  to 
have  been  the  signal  for  the  establishment  there  of 
a  society  such  as  the  much  boasted  Renaissance  of 
classical  learning  and  art  seems  everywhere  to  have 
brought  with  it;  shaming  the  ancient  g-ods  which 
were  thus  proved  so  little  capable  of  reinspiring 
mankind.  There  is  no  one  in  all  the  sphere  of  his- 
tory and  criticism  who  has  a  good  word  to  say  of 
Aretino.  He  was  the  very  type  of  the  base-born 
adventurer,  the  hanger-on  of  courts,  the  entirely 
corrupt  and  dazzlingly  clever  parasite,  whose  wit 
and  cunning  and  impudence  and  unscrupulousness, 
his  touch  of  genius  and  cynical  indifference  to  every 
law  and  mortal  restraint,  gave  him  a  power  which 
it  is  very  difficult  to  understand,  but  impossible  to 
ieny.  That  such  a  man  should  be  able  to  recom- 
mend the  greatest  painter  of  the  day  to  the  greatest 
potentate — Titian  to  Charles  V.-~is  amazing  beyond 
description,  but  it  would  seem  to  have  been  directly 
or  indirectly  the  case.  Aretino  had  an  immense 
correspondence  with  all  the  cultured  persons  of  his 
time,  and  in  the  letters  which  were  a  sort  of  trade 
to  him,  and  by  which  he  kept  himself  and  his  gifts 
and  pretensions  before  the  great  people  who  min- 
istered to  his  wants,  he  had  it  in  his  power  to  spread 
the  fame  of  a  friend,  and  let  the  dukes  and  princes 
know — the  young  men  who  were  proud  of  a  corre- 


sis  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

spondent  so  clever  and  wise  and  learned  in  all 
depravity  as  well  as  all  the  sciences  of  the  beautiful ; 
and  the  old  men  who  liked  his  gossip  and  his  pun- 
gent comments,  and  thought  they  could  keep  a  hold 
upon  the  world  by  such  means — that  here  was 
another  accomplished  vassal  ready  to  serve  their 
pleasure.  How  such  a  mixture  of  the  greatest  and 
the  basest  is  practicable,  and  how  it  has  so  often 
happened  that  the  lovers  of  every  beautiful  art 
should  be  in  themselves  so  unbeautiful,  so  low  in 
all  the  true  loveliness  of  humanity,  while  so  sensi- 
tive to  its  external  refinements,  is  a  question  of  far 
too  much  gravity  and  intricacy  to  be  discussed  here. 
Titian  found  a  better  market  for  his  Venuses  and 
Ariadnes  among  the  Hellenized  elegants  of  the 
time,  at  the  courts  of  those  splendid  princes  who 
were  at  the  summit  of  fashion  and  taste,  and  a  far 
more  appreciative  audience  (so  to  speak)  than  he 
ever  found  at  home  for  the  religious  pictures  which 
his  countrymen  felt  to  be  without  any  soul,  beauti- 
ful though  their  workmanship  might  be. 

In  another  region  of  art,  however,  he  was  now 
without  a  rival.  The  splendid  power  of  portraiture, 
in  which  no  painter  of  any  age  has  ever  surpassed 
him,  conducted  him  to  other  triumphs.  It  was  this 
which  procured  him  the  patronage  of  Charles  V., 
who  not  only  sat  to  him  repeatedly,  but  declared 
him  to  be  the  only  painter  he  would  care  to  honor, 
and  called  him  an  Apolles,  and  all  the  other  fine 
things  of  that  classical  jargon  which  was  so  con- 
ventional and  so  meaningless.  Certainly  nothing  can 
be  more  magnificent  than  the  portraits  with  which 
Titian  has  helped  to  make  the  history  of  his  age. 
The  splendor  of  color  in  them  is  not  more  remark- 
able than  that  force  of  reality  and  meaning  which 
is  so  wanting  in  his  smooth  Madonnas,  so  unneces- 
sary to  his  luxurious  goddesses.  The  men  whom 
Titian  paints  are  almost  all  worthy  to  be  senators 
or  emperors;  no  trifling  coxcomb,  no  foolish  gal- 
lant, ever  looks  out  upon  us  from  his  canvas,  but  a, 


tHE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  3lS 

series  of  noble  personages  worthy  their  rank  and 
importance  in  the  world.  It  is  difficult  to  overrate 
the  power  which  has  this  fine  effect.  Even  in  the 
much  discussed  decorative  tableau  of  the  "Presenta- 
tion," with  its  odious  old  woman  and  her  eggs, 
which  are  ianto  naturale,  according  to  the  vulgar,  the 
group  of  gentlemen  at  the  foot  of  the  stair  are 
noble  every  one,  requiring  no  pedigree.  It  was  only 
just  that  in  recompense  of  such  a  power  the  great 
emperor  should  have  ennobled  Titian  and  made  him 
Cavalier  and  Count  Palatine  and  every  other  splen- 
did thing.  Such  rewards  were  more  appropriate  in 
his  case  than  they  would  have  been  in  almost  any 
other.  It  was  in  his  power  to  confer  the  splendor 
they  loved  upon  the  subjects  of  his  pencil,  and  hand 
them  down  to  posterity  as  if  they  all  were  heroes 
and  philosophers.  The  least  the  emperor  could  do 
was  to  endow  the  painter  with  some  share  of  that 
magnificence  which  he  bestowed. 

And  when  we  look  back  upon  him  where  he  still 
reigns  in  Venice,  it  is  not  with  any  thought  of  his 
matronly  Madonna  among  her  cherubs,  notwith- 
standing all  the  importance  which  has  been  locally 
given  to  that  imposing  composition,  any  more  than, 
when  we  turn  to  the  magnificent  picture  painted 
for  the  same  church,  the  altar-piece  of  the  Pesaro 
chapel,  known  as  the  Madonna  of  the  Pesaro  family, 
it  is  the  sacred  personages  who  attract  our  regard. 
In  vain  is  the  sacred  group  throned  on  high :  the 
Virgin  with  her  Child  is  without  significance,  no 
true  Queen  of  Heaven,  with  no  mission  of  blessing 
to  the  world,  but  the  group  of  Venetian  nobles 
beneath,  kneeling  in  proud  humility,  their  thoughts 
fixed  on  the  grandeur  of  their  house  and  the 
accomplishment  of  their  aims,  like  true  sons  of  the 
masterful  republic — not  negligent  of  the  help  that 
our  Lady  and  the  saints  may  bestow  if  properly 
propitiated,  and  snatching  a  moment  accordingly  to 
lay  their  ambitions  and  keen,  worldly  desires  dis- 
tinctly before  her  and  her  court — live  forever,  gen- 


820  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

uine  representatives  of  one  of  the  most  powerful 
civilizations  of  the  mid- ages,  true  men  of  their 
time.  And  with  a  surprise  of  art,  a  sudden  human 
gleam  of  interest,  an  appeal  to  our  kindred  and 
sympathy  which  it  is  impossible  to  withstand,  there 
looks  out  at  us  from  the  canvas  a  young  face,  care- 
less of  all,  both  the  Madonna  and  the  family,  a  little 
weary  of  that  senseless  kneeling,  a  little  wondering 
at  the  motive  of  it,  seeking  in  the  eyes  of  the  spec- 
tator some  response  more  human,  full  of  the 
abstraction  of  youth,  to  which  the  world  is  not  yet 
open,  but  full  of  dreams.  If  our  practical,  money- 
making,  pleasure-loving  painter  had  found  in  his 
busy  life  any  time  for  symbols,  we  might  take  this 
beautiful  face  as  a  representation  of  that  new  unde- 
veloped life  seen  only  to  be  different  from  the  old, 
which,  with  a  half  weariness  and  half  disdain  of  the 
antiquated  practices  of  its  predecessors,  kneels  there 
along  with  them  in  physical  subordination  but  men- 
tal superiority,  not  sufficiently  awakened  to  strain 
against  the  curb  as  yet,  with  opposition  only  nas- 
cent: and  instinctive  separation  and  abstraction 
rather  than  rebellion  of  thought.  But  Titian,  we 
may  be  sure,  thought  of  none  of  these  things.  He 
must  have  caught  the  look,  half  protest,  half  appeal, 
that  the  tired  youth  (at  the  same  time  partially 
overawed  by  his  position)  turned  toward  him  as  he 
knelt;  and  with  the  supreme  perception  of  a  great 
artist  of  meanings  more  than  he  takes  the  trouble 
to  fathom,  save  for  their  effect,  have  secured  the 
look,  for  our  admiration  and  sympathy  evermore. 

In  the  full  maturity  of  his  age  and  fame  Titian 
removed  from  his  dwelling  at  San  Samuele,  where 
he  had  lived  amid  his  workshops  midway  between 
the  two  centers  of  Venetian  life,  the  Rialto  and  the 
Piazza,  to  a  luxurious  and  delightful  house  in  San 
Cassiano,  on  that  side  of  Venice  which  faces  Murano 
and  the  wide  lagoon  with  all  its  islands.  There  is 
no  trace  to  be  found  now  of  that  home  of  delights. 
The  water  has  receded,  the  banks  have  crept  out- 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  321 

ward,  and  the  houses  of  the  poor  now  cover  the  gar- 
den where  the  finest  company  in  Venice  once  looked 
out  upon  one  of  the  most  marvelous  scenes  in  the 
world.  The  traveler  may  skirt  the  bank  and  linger 
along  the  lagoon  many  a  day  without  seeing  the  sea 
fog  lift,  and  the  glorious  line  of  the  Dolomite  Alps 
come  out  against  the  sky.  But  when  that  revela- 
tion occurs  to  him  he  will  understand  the  splendor 
of  the  scene,  and  why  it  was  that  the  painter  chose 
that  house,  looking  out  across  the  garden  and  its 
bosquets  upon  the  marvelous  line  of  mountains  com- 
ing sheer  down,  as  appears,  to  the  water's  edge, 
soaring  clear  upward  in  wild  yet  harmonious  variety 
of  sharp  needles  and  rugged  peaks — here  white  with 
snow,  there  rising  in  the  somber  grandeur  of  the 
living  rock,  glistening  afar  with  reflections,  the 
lines  of  torrents,  and  every  tint  that  atmosphere 
and  distance  give.  When  the  atmosphere,  so  often 
heavy  with  moisture  and  banked  with  low-lying 
cloud,  clears,  and  the  sun  brings  out  triumphantly 
like  a  new  discovery  that  range  of  miraculous  hills, 
and  the  lurid  line  of  the  lagoon  stretches  out  and 
brims  over  upon  the  silvery  horizon,  and  the  towers 
of  Torcello  and  Murano  in  the  distance,  with  other 
smaller  isles,  stand  up  out  of  the  water,  miraculous 
too,  with  no  apparent  footing  of  land  upon  which  to 
poise  themselves,  the  scene  is  still  beautiful  beyond 
description,  notwithstanding  the  frightful  straight 
lines  of  red  and  white  wall  which  inclose  San  Mich- 
ele,  the  burial  place  of  Venice,  and  the  smoke  and 
high  chimneys  of  the  Murano  glassworks.  The 
walls  of  San  Michele  did  not  exist  in  Titian's  day; 
but  I  wonder  whether  Mr.  Ruskin  thinks  there  was 
no  smoke  over  Murano,  even  in  the  ages  of  primal 
simplicity  and  youth. 

There  is  nothing  now  but  a  crowd  of  somewhat 
dilapidated  houses  in  these  inferior  parts  of  the  city, 
sadly  mean  and  common  on  close  inspection,  amid 
the  bewildering  maze  of  small  streets  through  which 
the  traveler  is  hiirried  now  to  see  what  is  left  (which 

21  Venice 


i322  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

is  nothing)  of  the  house  of  Titian;  and  very  squalid 
along  the  quays  of  the  Fondamenta  Nuova,  with 
obvious  signs  everywhere  that  this  is  the  back  of  the 
town,  and  freed  from  all  necessity  for  keeping  up 
appearances.  In  Titian's  day  it  was  a  retired 
suburban  quarter,  with  green  fields  edging  the  level 
shore,  and  stretching  on  each  side  of  that  garden  in 
which  grew  the  trees,  and  over  which  shone  the  sky 
which  formed  the  background  of  the  great  "Peter 
Martyr,"  the  picture  which  was  burned  in  1867,  and 
which  everybody  is  free  to  believe  was  Titian's  chef 
dceuvre.  Here  the  painter  gathered  his  friends 
about  him,  and  supped  gayly  in  the  lovely  evenings, 
while  the  sun  from  behind  them  shot  his  low  rays 
along  the  lagoon,  and  caught  a  few  campaniles  here 
and  there  gleaming  white  in  the  dim  line  of  scarcely 
visible  country  at  the  foot  of  the  hills.  If  the  sun 
were  still  too  high  when  the  visitors  arrived  there 
was  plenty  to  see  in  the  house,  looking  over  the  pic- 
tures with  which  it  was  crowded:  the  wonderful, 
glowing  heads  of  dukes  and  emperors;  great 
Charles  in  all  his  splendor;  or — more  splendid  still 
the  nymphs  and  goddesses  without  any  aid  of  orna- 
ment, which  were  destined  for  all  the  galleries  in 
Europe.  A  famous  grammarian  from  Rome,  Pris- 
cian  by  name,  in  the  month  of  August,  1540, 
describes  such  a  party,  the  <;^wz/2Wj  being  Aretino  ("a 
new  miracle  of  nature"),  Sansovino  the  architect  of 
San  Marco,  Nardi  the  Florentine  historian,  and 
himself. 

The  house  [he  says]  is  situated  in  the  extreme  part  of  Ven- 
ice on  the  sea,  and  from  it  one  sees  the  pretty  Httle  island  of 
Murano  and  other  beautiful  places.  This  part  of  the  sea,  as 
soon  as  the  sun  went  down,  swarmed  with  gondolas,  adorned 
with  beautiful  women,  and  resounding  with  the  varied  har- 
mony and  music  of  voices  and  instruments  which  till  midnight 
accompanied  our  delightful  supper,  which  was^no  less  beauti- 
ful and  well  arranged  than  copious  and  well  provided.  Be- 
sides the  most  delicate  viands  and  precious  wines  there  were 
all  those  pleasures  and  amusements  that  were  suited  to  the 
geason,  the  guests,  and  the  feast. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  823 

While  they  were  at  their  fruit  letters  arrived 
from  Rome,  and  there  suddenly  arose  a  discussion 
upon  the  superiority  of  Latin  to  Italian,  very  excit- 
ing to  the  men  of  letters — though  the  painters,  no 
doubt,  took  it  more  quietly,  or  looked  aside  through 
the  trees  to  where  the  wonderful  silvery  gleaming 
of  the  sea  and  sky  kept  light  and  life  in  the  evening 
landscape,  or  a  snowy  peak  revealed  itself  like  a 
white  cloud  upon  the  gray ;  while  the  magical  atmo- 
sphere, sweet  and  cool  with  the  breath  of  night  after 
the  fervid  day,  a  world  of  delicious  space  about 
them,  thrilled  with  the  soft  rush  ot  the  divided  water 
after  every  gondola,  the  tinkle  of  the  oar,  the  sub- 
dued sounds  of  voices  from  the  lagoon,  and  the 
touching  ot  the  lute.  Round  the  table  in  the  gar- 
den the  sounds  of  the  discussion  were  perhaps  less 
sweet;  but,  no  doubt,  the  Venetian  promenaders, 
taking  their  evening  row  along  the  edge  of  the 
lagoon,  kept  as  close  to  the  shore  as  courtesy  per- 
mitted, heard  the  murmur  of  the  talk  with  admira- 
tion, and  pointed  out  where  Messer  Tiziano,  the 
great  painter,  feasted  and  entertained  his  noble 
guests  in  the  shade. 

For  doubtless  Titian,  Knight,  Count  Palatine, 
with  jeweled  collar  and  spurs  at  heel,  was  by  this 
time  a  personage  who  drew  every  eye,  notwith- 
standing that  the  Signoria  were  but  little  pleased 
with  him,  and  after  a  hundred  fruitless  representa- 
tions about  that  picture  in  the  great  hall,  took  the 
strong  step  at  last  of  taking  his  brokership  from 
him,  and  calling  upon  him,  in  the  midst  of  his  care- 
less superiority,  to  refund  the  money  which  he  had 
been  drawing  all  these  years  in  payment  of  work 
which  he  had  never  executed.  This  powerful  ap- 
peal made  him  set  aside  his  royal  commissions  for  a 
time  and  complete  the  picture  in  the  hall,  which 
was  that  of  a  battle,  very  immaterial  to  any  one 
now,  as  it  perished  with  all  the  rest  in  the  fire. 
This,  however,  was  a  most  effectual  way  of  recall- 
ing the  painter  to  his  duties,  for  he  never  seems 


324  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

throughout  his  life  to  have  had  enough  of  money, 
though  that  indeed  is  not  an  unusual  case.  His 
letters  to  his  patrons  are,  however,  full  to  an  un- 
dignified extent  with  this  subject.  The  emperor 
had  granted  him  a  certain  income  from  the  reve- 
nues of  Naples,  which  however  turned  out  a  very 
uncertain  income,  and  is  the  subject  of  endless 
remonstrance  and  appeals.  To  the  very  end  of  his 
life  there  is  scarcely  one  of  his  letters  in  which  the 
failure  of  this,  or  of  a  similar  grant  upon  Milan,  or 
of  some  other  mode  in  which  his  royal  and  imperial 
patrons  had  paid  for  their  personal  acquisitions  by 
orders  upon  somebody  else's  treasury,  is  not  com- 
plained of.  Titian,  it  would  seem,  eventually  got 
his  money,  but  not  without  a  great  deal  of  trouble ; 
fighting  for  it  strenuously  by  every  means  that 
could  be  thought  of.  And  he  pursued  his  labors 
ceaselessly;  producing  pictures  of  every  kind — a 
Christ  one  day,  a  Venus  the  next — with  a  serene 
impartiality.  Anything  is  to  be  got  from  Titian 
for  money,  says  the  envoy  of  King  Phlip,  after  the 
great  days  of  Charles  are  over.  He  pleads  for  a 
benefice  for  his  son  who  is  a  priest,  for  the  enforce- 
ment of  his  claims  upon  state  revenues  because  of 
the  betrothal  of  his  daughter,  and  because  he  is 
growing  old,  and  for  a  number  of  reasons,  always 
eager  to  have  the  money  at  any  cost.  '*He  is  old 
and  therefore  avaricious,"  says  Philip's  ambassador. 
But  to  the  last  he  could  paint  his  Venuses,  though 
coarsely,  and  in  the  midst  of  all  these  studies  from 
the  nude  suddenly  would  produce  a  "Last  Sup- 
per,"  credited  once  more  among  so  many,  by  the 
busy  coteries  and  critics,  as  likely  to  be  Titian's  best. 
At  the  same  time  this  great  and  celebrated 
painter,  who  thought  no  harm  to  fleece  the  dukes, 
and  to  insist  upon  their  money,  had  and,  alas!  for- 
got, it  seems,  the  honor  and  glory  of  being  Titian, 
and  aimed  at  a  rich  man's  substance  and  estimation 
—this  magnificent  Venetian,  with  his  feudal  powers 
and   title,  never   forgot   little   Cadore    among    the 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  325 

hills,  toward  which  his  windows  looked,  and  where 
his  kindred  dwelt.  There  is  a  letter  extant  from 
his  cousin,  another  Titian,  but  so  different,  thanking 
him  for  his  good  offices,  which  among  all  those  let- 
ters about  money  is  a  refreshment  to  see.  The 
Tiziano  of  the  village  regrets  deeply  to  have  been 
absent  when  his  "all  but  brother"  the  great  Titian, 
whose  name  was  known  over  all  the  world, 
visited  Cadore,  and  therefore  to  have  been  pre- 
vented from  "making  proper  return  for  all  we  owe 
you,  in  respect  of  numerous  proofs  of  friendship 
shown  to  our  community  at  large,  and  in  special  to 
our  envoys,  for  all  of  which  you  may  be  assured  we 
have  a  grateful  memory."  He  then  informs  his 
kinsman  that  two  citizens  have  been  appointed  as 
orators  or  spokesmen  of  the  city  to  the  Signoria  of 
Venice,  and  implores  for  them  Titian's  "favor  and 
assistance,  which  must  insure  success."  "My  son 
Vecello,"  continues  the  writer,  "begs  you  to  give 
him  your  interest  in  respect  of  the  place  of  San 
Francesco,  and  this  by  way  of  an  exchange  of  serv- 
ices, as  I  am  ready  at  all  times  to  second  your 
wishes  and  consult  your  convenience";  and  finally 
requests  to  know  when  the  money  is  to  be  paid 
"which  you  so  courteously  lent  to  the  community." 
"In  conclusion  we  beg  of  you  to  command  us  all ; 
and  should  this  exchange  of  services  be  carried  out 
on  both  sides,  it  will  be  a  proof  of  the  utmost  kind- 
ness and  charity,  in  which  it  is  our  wish  that  God 
should  help  you  for  many  years. " 

It  would  be  curious  to  imagine  what  the  little 
highland  borgo  could  do  for  Titian  in  exchange  for 
liis  kindnesses.  He  painted  them  a  picture  at  a 
later  date  for  which  they  paid  him  in  a  delightful 
way,  granting  him  a  piece  of  land  upon  which  he 
built  a  cottage.  This  house  jvas  pitched  on  a  mar- 
velous mount  of  vision  on  the  side  of  one  of  those 
m-agnificent  hills;  so  that  his  dwelling  above  and 
his  home  below  must  have  exchanged  visions,  so  to 
speak,  in  the  vast  space  of  blue  that  lay  between. 


3L'6  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

But  notwithstanding  all  this  glory  and  honor, 
there  were  critics  in  his  own  craft  and  a  prevailing 
sentiment  underneath  the  admiration  extorted 
from  Venice,  which  detracted  a  little  from  the  fame 
of  Titian.  The  common  people  would  not  love  his 
goddesses,  though  the  princes  adored  them.  The 
commonalty,  with  a  prejudice  which  no  doubt 
shows  their  ignorance,  yet  has  its  advantages, 
never  out  of  Greece  approves  the  nude,  whatever 
connoisseurs  may  say.  And  the  ambassadors  were 
wanting  in  respect,  yet  true  to  fact,  when  they  said 
that  for  money  anything  could  be  got  from  the 
great  painter  who  never  had  enough  for  his  needs. 
Another  criticism,  which  would  have  affected  him 
more  than  either  of  these,  was  that  of  some  of  his 
great  rivals  in  art,  who,  with  all  their  admiration, 
had  still  something  to  find  fault  with  in  the  method 
of  his  work.  When  Titian  visited  Rome  it  was  the 
good  fortune  of  Vasari,  who  had  already  some  ac- 
quaintance with  him,  to  show  him.  the  great  sights 
of  that  capital  of  the  world.  And  one  day  while 
Titian  was  painting  his  portrait  of  the  Pope,  Messer 
Giorgio,  the  good  Florentine,  accompanied  by  a 
great  countryman  of  his,  no  less  a  personage  than 
Michael  Angelo,  paid  the  Venetian  painter  a  visit 
at  his  studio  in  the  Belvedere,  where  they  saw  the 
picture  of  Danae  under  the  rain  of  gold,  a  wonder- 
ful piece  of  color  and  delicate  flesh  painting,  which 
they  applauded  greatly.  But  afterward,  as  they 
came  away,  talking  together  in  their  grave  Tuscan 
style,  the  great  master  of  design  shook  his  serious 
head  while  he  repeated  his  praises.  What  a  pity, 
che  peccato!  that  these  Venetian  painters  did  not 
learn  to  draw  from  the  beginning  and  had  not  a 
more  thorough  method  of  teaching — for,  said  he, 
"if  this  man  were  aided  by  art,  and  laws  of  design, 
as  he  is  by  nature,  and  by  his  power  of  counterfeit- 
ing life,  no  one  could  attain  greater  excellence  than 
he,  having  such  a  noble  genius  and  such  a  fine  and 
animated   manner  of    working."      In    almost    the 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  327 

same  words  Sebastian  del  Piombo  lamented  to 
Messer  Giorgio  the  same  defect;  which  certain!}^ 
must  have  been  Vasari's  opinion,  too,  or  his  friends 
would  not  have  remarked  it  so  freely.  But  they 
all  allowed  that  he  was  il  piu  bello  e  maggiore  imita- 
tore  della  Natura  than  had  ever  been  seen ;  and  per- 
haps this  was  praise  enough  for  one  man. 

He  lived  till  ninety,  a  splendid,  successful,  pros- 
perous, but  not  very  elevated  or  noble  life;  working 
on  till  the  very  end,  not  from  necessity,  or  from 
any  higher  motive,  but  apparently  from  a  love  of 
gain  and  tradesmanlike  instinct  against  refusing 
any  order,  as  well  as,  no  doubt,  from  a  true  love  of 
the  beautiful  art  to  which  his  life  had  been  devoted 
from  childhood  up.  The  boy  of  ten  who  had  come 
down  from  his  mountains  to  clean  Zuan  Bellini's 
palette,  and  pick  up  the  secrets  of  the  craft  in  his 
bottega  before  he  was  old  enough  for  serious  teach- 
ing, had  a  long  career  from  that  beginning  until  the 
day  when  he  was  carried  to  the  Frari  in  hasty  state, 
by  special  order  of  the  Signoria,  to  be  buried  there 
against  all  law  and  rule,  while  the  other  victims  of 
the  plague  were  taken  in  secret  to  outlying  islands, 
and  put  into  the  earth  out  of  the  way,  in  the  hideous 
panic  which  that  horrible  complaint  brought  with 
it.  But  never  during  all  this  long  interval,  three 
parts  of  a  century,  had  he  given  up  the  close  pur- 
suit of  his  art.  And  what  changes  during  that  time 
had  passed  over  Art  in  Venice !  The  timid  tempera 
period  was  altogether  extinct — the  disciples  of  the 
old  school  all  gone;  and  of  the  first  generation 
which  revolutionized  the  Venetian  botiegas,  and 
brought  nature  and  the  secret  of  lustrous  modern 
color,  and  ease  and  humanity  into  Art,  none  were 
left.  Bellini  and  Carpaccio  and  all  the  throng  of 
lesser  masters  had  been  swept  away  in  the  long  in- 
evitable procession  of  the  generations.  And  their 
principles  had  been  carried  into  the  sensuous  brill- 
iancy of  a  development  which  loved  color  and  the 
pimpled  roundness  of  flesh,  and  the  beauty  which 


3'28  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

is  of  the  body  rather  than  the  mind.  When  Titian 
began,  his  teachers  and  masters  applied  all  their 
faculties  to  the  setting  forth  of  a  noble  ideal,  of  per- 
fect devotion  and  purity  of  manhood  and  woman- 
hood, with  the  picturesque  clothing  and  sentiment 
of  their  century,  yet  consecrated  by  some  higher 
purpose,  something  in  which  all  the  generations 
should  sympathize  and  be  of  accord.  When  he 
ended,  the  world  was  full  of  images,  lovely  in  their 
manner,  in  which  the  carnagio?ie  of  the  naked  limbs, 
the  painting  of  a  dimple,  were  of  more  importance 
than  all  ttie  emotions  that  touch  the  soul.  It  is 
none  of  our  business  to  make  moral  distinctions  be- 
tween the  one  method  and  the  other.  This  was  the 
result  in  Venice  of  that  new  inspiration  which  the 
older  painters  had  first  turned  to  every  pious  and 
noble  use.  And  it  was  Titian  in  his  love  of 
beauty,  in  his  love  of  money,  in  his  magnificent 
faculty  of  work  adaptability  to  the  wishes  of  the 
time,  that  brought  it  about.  His  associates  of  youth 
all  dropped  from  him,  the  gentle  Palma,  now 
called  il  Vecchio,  dying  midway  in  the  career  of  the 
robuster  companion,  as  Giorgione  had  fallen  at  its 
beginning.  In  his  long  life  and  endless  labors,  as 
well  as  in  his  more  persevering  and  steady  power, 
Titian,  whatever  hints  and  instructions  he  may 
have  taken,  as  his  later  prosaic  biographers  sug- 
gest, from  each  of  them,  outdid  them  both.  And 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that  he  still  stands  above 
them  all,  at  least  in  the  general  estimation,  dwell- 
ing in  a  supremacy  of  skill  and  strength  upon  the 
side  of  the  deep,  flowing  stream  that  divides 
Venice,  dominating  everything  that  came  after 
him,  like  the  white  marble  mountain  of  the  Salute, 
but  never  learning  the  heavenly  secret  of  the  elder 
brotherhood  who  first  instructed  his  youth. 

There  are  some  picturesque  anecdotes  of  Titian 
which  everybody  knows,  as,  for  instance,  that  of 
the  astounding  moment  in  which  the  painter  hav- 
ing dropped  a  brush,  great  Charles,  the  lord  of  so 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  329 

many  kingdoms,  a  Spaniard  and  accustomed  to  the 
utmost  rigidity  of  etiquette,  the  Roman  emperor  at 
the  apex  of  human  glory,  made  the  hair  stand  on 
end  of  every  courtly  beholder  by  picking  it  up. 
"Your  servant  is  unworthy  of  such  an  honor,"  said 
Titian,  in  words  that  might  have  been  addressed  to 
something  divine.  "A  Titian  is  worthy  to  be 
served  by  Caesar,"  replied  his  imperial  majesty, 
not  undervaluing  the  condescension,  as  perhaps  a 
friendly  English  prince  who  had  acted  on  impulse, 
or  a  more  light-hearted  Frenchman  with  the  de  rien 
of  exquisite  courtesy,  might  have  done.  Charles 
knew  it  was  an  incident  for  history,  and  conducted 
himself  accordingly.  There  is  a  prettier  and  more 
pleasant  suggestion  in  the  scene  recorded  by 
Ridolfi,  which  describes  how  Titian,  while  painting 
Alfonso  of  Este,  the  Duke  ot  Ferrara,  was  visited 
by  Ariosto  with  the  divino  suopoema  in  his  pocket, 
which  he  was  still  in  the  course  of  writing— who 
read  aloud  his  verses  for  the  delight  of  both  sitter 
and  painter,  and  afterward  talked  it  over,  and  de- 
rived much  advantage  from  Titian's  criticisms  and 
remarks,  which  helped  him  "in  the  description  of 
landscapes  and  in  setting  forth  the  beauty  of  Alcina, 
Angelica,  and  Bradamante."  "Thus,"  Ridolfi 
adds,  "Art  held  the  office  of  mute  poetry,  and 
poetry  of  painting  eloquent." 


CHAPTER    III. 

TINTORETTO. 

When  Titian  was  at  the  height,  or  rather  ap^ 
proaching  the  height,  of  his  honors,  a  certain  little 
dyer,  or  dyer's  son,  a  born  Venetian,  from  one  of 
the  side  canals  where  the  tintori  are  still  by  times  to 
be  seen,  purple-limbed  from  the  dye-houses,  was 
brought  to  his  studio.  The  lad  had  daubed  with 
his  father's  colors  since  he  could  walk,  tracing  fig- 
ures upon  the  walls  and  every  vacant  space,  andj  no 


m  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

doubt,  with  his  spirito  stravagante  making-  himself  a 
nuisance  to  all  his  belongings.  Robusto,  the  father, 
was  a  man  of  sense,  no  doubt,  and  saw  it  was  vain 
to  strive  against  so  strong  a  natural  impulse;  be- 
sides, there  was  no  reason  why  he  should  do  so,  for  he 
had  no  position  to  forfeit,  and  the  trade  of  a  painter 
was  a  prosperous  trade,  and  not  one  to  be  despised 
by  any  honest  citizen.  We  are  not  told  at  what  age 
young  Jacopo,  the  tintorettino^  the  little  dyer,  came 
into  the  great  painter's  studio.  But  he  was  born  in 
15 1 2,  and  if  we  suppose  him  to  be  fifteen  or  so,  no 
doubt  that  would  be  the  furthest  age  which  he  was 
likely  to  have  reached  before  being  set  to  his  ap- 
prenticeship by  a  prudent  Venetian  father.  The 
story  of  his  quickly  interrupted  studies  there  is  told 
by  Ridolfi  with  every  appearance  of  truthfulness. 

"Not  many  days  after,  Titian  came  into  the  room 
where  his  pupils  worked,  and  seeing  at  the  foot  of 
one  of  the  benches  certain  papers  upon  which  fig- 
ures were  drawn,  asked  who  had  done  them. 
Jacopo,  who  was  the  author  of  the  same,  afraid  to 
have  done  wrong,  timidly  said  that  they  were  from 
his  hand.  Titian  perceiving  from  these  beginnings 
that  the  boy  would  probably  become  a  great  man, 
and  give  him  trouble  in  his  supremacy  of  art,  had 
no  sooner  gone  upstairs  and  laid  aside  his  mantle 
than  he  called  Girolamo,  his  pupil  (for  in  human 
breasts  jealousy  works  like  a  canker),  to  whom  he 
gave  orders  to  send  Jacopo  away." 

"Thus,"  adds  Ridolfi,  "without  hearing  the 
reason,  he  was  left  without  a  master."  The  story 
is  an  ugly  one  for  Titian.  Though  it  is  insinuated 
of  other  masters  that  they  have  regarded  the  prog- 
ress of  their  pupils  with  alarm,  there  has  been  no 
such  circumstantial  account  of  professional  jealousy 
in  the  very  budding  of  youthful  powers.  Vasari, 
who  was  a  contemporary  of  both,  and  a  friend  of 
Titian,  though  he  does  not  mention  this  incident, 
gives  in  his  sketch  of  the  younger  painter  a  picture 
which  accords   in  every  respect  with  Ridolfi's  de- 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  331 

tailed  biography,  though  the  criticism  of  Vasari  has 
all  the  boldness  of  a  contemporary,  and  that  lively, 
amused  appreciation  with  which  a  calm  looker-on 
beholds  the  eccentricities  of  a  passionate  genius 
which  he  admires  but  cannot  understand.  Tintor- 
etto's violence  and  extravagance  had  become  classi- 
cal by  Ridolfi's  time.  They  were  still  half  ridicu- 
lous, a  thing  to  talk  about  with  shrugged  shoulders 
and  shaken  head,  in  the  days  when  Messer  Giorgio 
of  Florence  had  the  story  told  to  him,  or  perhaps 
saw  with  his  own  eyes  the  terrible  painter  rushing 
with  the  force  of  a  giant  at  his  work. 

In  the  same  city  of  Venice  [says  Vasari,  suddenly  bursting 
into  this  lively  narrative  in  the  midst  of  the  labored  record  of 
a  certain  Battista  Franco  who  was  nobody]  there  lived  and 
lives  still  a  painter  called  Jacopo  Tintoretto,  full  of  worth  and 
talent,  especially  in  music  and  in  playing  divers  instruments, 
and  in  other  respects  amiable  in  all  his  actions;  but  in  matters 
of  art,  extravagant,  capricious,  swift,  and  resolute ;  and  the 
most  hot-headed  \il piu  terribile  cervello]  that  ever  has  taken 
painting  in  hand,  as  may  be  seen  in  all  his  works  and  in  the 
fantastic  composition  which  he  puts  together  in  his  own  way, 
different  from  the  use  and  custom  of  other  painters ;  surpassing 
extravagance  with  new  and  capricious  inventions,  and  strange 
whims  of  intellect ;  working  on  the  spur  of  the  moment  and 
without  design,  almost  as  if  art  was  a  mere  pleasantry. 
Sometimes  he  will  put  forth  sketches  as  finished  pictures,  so 
roughly  dashed  in  that  the  strokes  of  the  brush  are  clearly 
visible,  as  if  done  by  accident  or  in  defiance  rather  than  by 
design  and  judgment.  He  has  worked  almost  in  every  style 
— in  fresco,  in  oil,  portraits  from  nature,  and  at  every  price ; 
in  such  a  way  that,  according  to  their  different  modes,  he  has 
painted  and  still  paints  the  greater  number  of  the  pictures 
that  are  executed  in  Venice.  And  as  in  his  youth  he  showed 
much  understanding  in  many  fine  works,  if  he  had  known  the 
great  principle  which  there  is  in  nature,  and  aided  it  with 
study  and  cool  judgment,  as  those  have  done  who  have  fol- 
lowed the  fine  methods  of  their  predecessors,  and  had  not,  as 
he  has  done,  abandoned  this  practice,  he  would  Ijave  been  one 
of  the  best  painters  who  have  ever  been  known  in  Venice — 
not  that  it  should  be  understood  by  this  that  he  is  not  actually 
a  fine  and  good  painter,  of  a  vivid,  fanciful,  and  gracious 
spirit. 

How  this  swift,  imperious,  masterful  genius  was 
formed,  Ridolfi  tells  us  with  much  more  detail  than 


332  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

is  usual,  and  with  many  graphic  touches;  himself 
waking  up  in  the  midst  of  his  somewhat  dry  biog- 
raphies with  a  quickened  interest,  and  that  pleasure 
in  coming  across  a  vigorous,  original  human  being 
amid  so  many  shadows  which  none  but  a  writer  of 
biographical  sketches  can  fully  know.  No  one  of 
all  our  painters  stands  out  of  the  canvas  like  the 
dyer's  son,  robust  as  his  name,  a  true  type,  perhaps 
the  truest  of  all,  of  his  indomitable  race.  When  he 
was  turned  out  of  Titian's  studio,  "everyone  may 
conceive,"  says  Ridolfi,  "what  disgust  he  felt  in  his 
mind." 

But  such  affronts  become  sometimes  powerful  stimulants  to 
tlie  noble  spirit,  and  afford  material  for  generous  resolutions. 
Jacopo,  excited  by  indignation,  altbcugh  still  but  a  boy, 
turned  over  in  his  mind  how  to  carry  on  the  career  be  had  be- 
gun — and  not  allowing  himself  to  be  carried  away  by  passion, 
knowing  the  greatness  of  Titian,  whose  honors  were  predicted 
by  all,  he  considered  in  every  way  how,  by  means  of  studying 
the  works  of  that  master,  and  the  relievos  of  Michael  Angelo 
P>uornarotti,  reputed  father  of  design,  he  might  become  a 
painter.  Thus,  with  the  help  of  these  two  divine  lights, 
whom  painting  and  sculpture  have  rendered  so  illustrious  in 
modern  times,  he  went  forward  toward  his  desired  end ;  well 
advised  to|[provide  himself  with  secure  escort  to  point  out  the 
path  to  him  in  difficult  passages.  And  in  order  not  to  deviate 
from  his  proposed  course  he  inscribed  the  laws  which  were  to 
regulate  his  studies  upon  the  walls  of  the  cabinet  in  which  he 
pursued  them,  as  follows: 

"II  desegno  di  Michel  Angelo,  e'l  Colorito  di  Titiano." 

Upon  this  he  set  himself  to  collect  from  all  quarters,  not 
without  great  expense,  casts  of  ancient  marbles ;  and  procured 
from  Florence  the  miniature  models  done  by  Daniele  Volter- 
rano  from  the  figures  upon  the  tombs  of  the  Medici,  in  San 
Lorenzo  in  that  city;  that  is,  the  "Aurora,"  the  "Twilight," 
the  "Day"  and  the  "Night,"  of  which  he  made  a  special 
study ;  making  drawings  of  them  from  every  side,  and  by  the 
light  of  a  lamp,  m  order,  by  the  strong  shadows  thrown  from 
this  light,  to  form  in  himself  a  powerful  and  effective  manner. 
In  the  same  way,  every  arm,  hand,  and  torso  which  he  could 
collect  he  drew  over  and  over  again  on  colored  paper  with 
charcoal,  in  water-colors,  and  every  other  way  in  which  he 
could  teach  himself  what  was  necessary  for  the  uses  of  art. 
.  .  .  Nor  did  he  give  up  copying  the  pictures  of  Titian,  upon 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  333 

which  he  established  an  excellent  method  of  color  so  that 
many  things  painted  by  him  in  the  flower  of  his  age  retain  all 
the  advantages  of  that  style  to  which  he  added  those  of  much 
observation  from  his  continual  studies,  and  thus  following  the 
traces  of  the  best  masters,  advanced  with  great  steps  toward 
perfection. 

We  need  not  follow  Ridolfi  in  his  detailed  account 
of  all  the  experiments  of  the  self-instructed  painter 
— how  he  "departed  from  the  study  of  nature  alone, 
which  for  the  most  part  produces  things  imperfect, 
not  conjoining,  except  rarely,  all  the  parts  of  cor- 
responding beauty"  ;  how  he  improvised  for  himself 
a  course  of  anatomy;  how  he  forestalled  the  lay 
figures  of  modern  times  by  models  of  wax  and  plas- 
ter, upon  which  he  hung  his  draperies:  how  he  ar- 
ranged his  lights,  both  by  day  and  night,  so  as  to 
throw  everything  into  bold  relief.  His  invention 
seems  to  have  been  endless;  in  his  solitary  work- 
shop, without  the  aid  of  any  master,  the  young  man 
faced  by  himself  all  the  difficulties  of  his  art,  and 
made  for  himself  many  of  the  aids  which  the  inge- 
nuity of  later  ages  has  been  supposed  to  contrive 
for  the  advantage  of  the  student.  Nor  did  he  con- 
fine himself  to  his  studio,  or  to  those  endless  expe- 
dients for  seeing  his  models  on  every  side,  and 
securing  the  effect  of  them  in  every  light. 

He  also  continued,  in  order  to  practice  himself  in  the  man- 
agement of  color,  to  visit  every  place  where  painting  was 
going  on — and  it  is  said  that,  drawn  by  the  desire  of  work,  he 
went  with  the  builders  to  Cittadella,  where  round  the  rays  of 
the  clock  he  painted  various  fanciful  matters,  solely  to  relieve 
his  mind  of  some  of  the  innumerable  thoughts  that  filled  it. 
He  went  much  about  also  among  the  painters  of  lower  pre- 
tensions who  worked  in  the  Piazza  of  San  Marco  on  the 
painters'  benches,  to  learn  their  method  too. 

The  painters'  benches,  le  banche  per  depintori, 
were,  as  Ridolfi  tells  us  in  another  place,  under  the 
porticoes  in  the  Piazza,  where,  according  to  an 
ancient  privilege  granted  by  the  Senate,  the  poorer 
or  humbler  members  of  the  profession  plied  their 
trade;  painting  on  chests  and  probably  other  arti- 


334  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

cles  of  furniture  *' histories,  foliage,  grotesque,  and 
other  bizarre  things."  They  would  seem  to  have 
worked  in  the  open  air,  unsheltered  save  by  the 
arches  of  the  colonnade,  where  now  tourists  sip  their 
ices,  and  gossiping  politicians  congregate;  and  to 
have  sold  their  wares  as  they  worked,  a  lowly  but 
not  unprofitable 'branch  of  an  already  too  much  fol- 
lowed profession.  The  depintori  da  banche  seem  to 
have  been  a  recognized  section  of  artists,  and  such  a 
painter  as  Schiavone  was  fain  by  times  in  his  pov- 
erty, we  are  told,  to  get  a  day's  work  from  a  friend 
of  this  humble  order.  The  dyer's  son,  it  is  evi- 
dent, had  no  such  need.  He  went  but  to  look  on; 
to  watch  how  they  got  those  bold  effects  which  told 
upon  the  cassetto?ie  for  a  bourgeois  bride,  or  the  finer 
ornamentation  of  the  coffer  which  was  to  inclose  the 
patrician  lady's  embroideries  of  gold.  He  scorned 
no  instruction,  wherever  he  could  find  it,  this  deter- 
mined student,  whom  Titian  had  refused  to  teach. 
And  it  adds  a  new  feature  to  that  ancient  Venice 
which  was  so  like,  yet  unlike,  the  present  city  of  the 
sea,  to  behold  thus  clearly,  in  the  well-known  scene, 
the  painters  on  their  benches,  with  their  long  pan- 
els laid  out  for  sale,  and  admiring  groups  lingering 
in  their  walk  to  watch  over  the  busy  artist's  shoul- 
der the  progress  he  was  making,  or  to  cheapen  the 
fine  painted  lid  of  a  box  which  was  wanted  for  some 
approaching  wedding.  The  new  porticoes  were  not 
yet  quite  completed,  and  the  chippings  of  the  stones, 
and  all  the  dust  of  the  mason's  work,  must  have 
disturbed  the  painters,  who  were  of  too  little  ac- 
count to  trouble  Sansovino,  the  fine  architect,  who 
was  then  piling  up  the  Procuratie  Nuove  in  those 
dignified  masses,  over  the  heads  of  all  the  gay  and 
varied  life  going  on  below. 

In  those  days  [adds  Ridolfi],  which  may  be  called  the  happy 
days  of  painting,  there  abounded  in  Venice  many  youths  of 
fine  genius,  who,  full  of  talent,  made  great  progress  in  art, 
exhibiting  in  emulation  one  with  another  the  result  of  their 
labors  in  the  Merceria  in  order  to  kuow  the  opinions  of  the 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  335 

spectators;  where  also  Tintoretto,  with  his  inventions  and 
fancies,  did  not  fail  to  show  the  effects  which  God  and  nature 
had  worked  in  him.  And  among  the  things  which  he  thus 
exhibited  were  two  portraits,  one  of  himself  with  a  relievo  in 
his  hand ,  the  other  of  his  brother  playing  the  harp,  repre- 
sented by  night  with  such  tremendous  force  [co7t  si  ierribile 
7naiiiera\  that  every  beholder  was  struck  with  amazement;  at 
sight  of  which  a  gentle  bystander,  moved  by  the  sight  of  so 
much  poetic  rapture,  sung  thus: 

"Si  Tinctorettus  noctes  sic  lucet  in  umbris 
Exorto  faciet  quid  radiante  Die?" 
He  exhibited  also  in  Rialto  a  history  with  many  figures,  the 
fame  of  which  reached  the  ears  of  Titian  himself,  who,  going 
up  to  it  in  haste,  could  not  contain  his  praises,  though  he 
wished  no  good  to  his  despised  scholar;  genius  \la  virtu] 
being  of  that  condition  that,  even  when  full  of  envy ;  it  can- 
not withhold  praise  of  true  merit  though  in  an  enemy. 

With  all  this,  however,  Tintoretto  did  not  prosper 
in  the  exercise  of  his  profession.  He  got  no  com- 
missions like  the  other  young  men.  The  cry  was 
all  for  Pal  ma  Vecchio,  for  Pordenone,  for  Bonfazio, 
says  Ridolfi,  perhaps  not  too  exact  in  his  dates;  but 
above  all,  for  Titian,  who  received  most  of  the  com- 
missions of  importance.  Titian  himself,  however, 
was,  at  the  probable  time  referred  to,  about  1530, 
the  earliest  date  at  which  Tintoretto  could  possibly 
match  himself  against  the  elder  painters,  much 
pressed  by  Pordenone,  to  whom  the  Senate  were 
anxious  to  hand  over  his  uncompleted  work.  In 
short,  it  is  evident  that  the  brotherhood  of  art  was 
already  suffering  from  too  much  competition.  The 
dyer's  energetic  son,  who  seems  to  have  had  no 
pinch  ot  necessity  forcing  him  to  paint  cassettoni  like 
the  other  poor  painters,  moved  heaven  and  earth 
with  the  high-handed  vigor  which  pecuniary  inde- 
pendence gives,  to  get  work  for  himself,  and  to 
make  himself  known.  If  it  was  work  which  did  not 
pay,  no  matter;  the  determined  painter  took  it  in 
hand  all  the  same;  and  to  poor  churches  in  need  of 
decoration  his  advent  would  be  a  godsend. 
AVhether  it  was  an  organ  that  wanted  painting,  or  the 
front  of  a  house,  or  an  altar-piece  for  a  little  out- 
of-the-way  chapel,  he  was  ready  for  all.      On  one 


336  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

occasion  a  house  which  was  being  built  near  the 
Ponte  deir  Angelo  seemed  to  him  to  afford  a  fitting 
opportunity  for  the  exhibition  of  his  powers.  He 
addressed  himself,  accordingly,  to  the  builders — 
with  whom  it  seems  to  have  been  the  interest  of  the 
painters  to  keep  a  good  understanding,  and  who 
were  often  intrusted  with  the  responsibility  of 
ordering  such  frescoes  as  might  be  required, — who 
informed  him  that  the  master  of  the  house  did  not 
want  any  frescoes  painted.  But  Tintoretto,  intoxi- 
cated, no  doubt,  with  the  prospect  of  that  fine,  fair 
wall  all  to  himself,  to  cover  as  he  would,  "deter- 
mined, in  one  way  or  another,  to  have  the  painting 
of  it,"  and  proposed  to  the  master-mason  to  paint 
the  house  for  nothing:  for  the  price  of  the  colors 
merely.  This  offer,  being  submitted  to  the  propri- 
etor, was  promptly  accepted,  and  the  painter  had 
his  way. 

Something  of  the  same  kind  happened,  according 
to  Ridolfi,  in  a  more  serious  undertaking  at  the 
church  of  the  Madonna  dell'  Orto.  With  his  many 
thoughts  "boiling  in  his  fruitful  brain,"  and  with 
an  overwhelming  desire  to  prove  himself  the  bold- 
est painter  in  the  world,  he  suddenly  proposed  to 
the  prior  of  this  convent  to  paint  the  two  sides  of 
the  chief  chapel  behind  the  great  altar.  The  fres- 
coed house-fronts  are  visible  no  longer,  but  the 
two  vast  pictures  in  this  chapel  remain  to  tell  the 
tale.  The  spaces  were  fifty  feet  in  height,  and  the 
prior  laughed  as  the  mad  suggestion,  thinking  that 
for  such  a  work  the  whole  year's  income  of  the  con- 
vent would  scarcely  be  enough;  and,  without  taking 
any  notice  of  the  proposal, bade  the  painter  good-day. 
But  Tintoretto,  taking  no  heed  of  this  dismissal, 
went  on  to  say  that  he  would  ask  nothing  for  the 
work,  but  only  the  cost  of  the  material,  giving  his 
own  time  and  labor  as  a  gift.  These  words  made 
the  prior  pause;  for  who  could  doubt  that  to  have 
two  such  huge  illustrations,  superior  to  all  around, 
without  paying  anything  for  them,  would  be  balm 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  337 

to  any  Venetian's  thoughts?  Finally  the  bargain 
was  made  and  the  work  begun,  the  painter  flinging 
himself  upon  it  with  all  his  strength.  The  two 
great  pictures — one  representing  the  return  of 
Moses,  after  receiving  the  Tablets  of  the  Law,  to 
find  that  all  Israel  was  worshiping  the  golden  calf, 
the  other  the  Last  Judgment — were  promptly  exe- 
cuted, and  still  remain,  gigantic,  to  the  admiration 
of  all  spectators.  The  fame  of  this  strange  bargain 
ran  through  the  city,  and  attracted  the  attention  of 
all  classes.  The  critics  and  authorities  shook  their 
heads  and  lamented  over  the  decay  of  art  which  had 
to  resort  to  such  measures.  "But  little  cared  Tin- 
toretto for  the  discussions  of  the  painters,  proposing 
to  himself  no  other  end  than  self-satisfaction  and 
glory — little  useful  as  these  thing  are." 

Both  Vasari  and  Ridolfi  concur  in  the  story  of  a 
certain  competition  at  the  school  of  San  Rocco,  in 
which  Tintoretto  was  to  contend  with  Schiavone, 
Salviati,  and  Zucchero  for  the  ornamentation  of  a 
portion  of  the  ceiling.  While  the  others  prepared 
drawings  and  designs,  this  tremendous  competitor 
had  the  space  measured,  and  with  all  his  fire  of 
rapid  execution,  in  which  nobody  could  touch  him — • 
so  that  Vasari  says,  when  the  others  thought  he  had 
scarcely  begiin,  he  had  already  finished — set  to  work 
to  paint  a  picture  of  the  subject  given.  When  the 
day  of  the  competition  arrived  he  conveyed  his 
canvas  to  the  spot,  and  had  it  secretly  fixed  up  in 
its  place  and  covered— and  after  the  other  competi- 
tors had  exhibited  their  drawings  he,  to  the  conster- 
nation of  all,  snatched  away  the  linen  which  covered 
his  picture  and  revealed  it  completed.  A  great 
uproar,  as  might  be  supposed,  arose.  What  the  feel- 
ings of  his  rivals  were,  seeing  this  march  which  he 
had  stolen  upon  them,  may  be  imagined;  but  he 
authorities  of  the  confraterniia,  solemnly  assembled 
to  sit  upon  the  merits  of  the  respective  designs, 
were  no  less  moved.  They  told  him  with  indigna- 
tion that  they  had  met  to  inspect  designs  and  choose 

22  Venice 


338  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

one  which  pleased  them  for  after-execution,  not  to 
have  a  finished  picture  thrust  upon  them.  To  which 
Tintoretto  answered  that  this  was  his  method  of 
designing,  that  he  could  not  do  otherwise,  and  that 
designs  and  models  ought  to  be  so  executed,  in  order 
that  no  one  should  be  deceived  as  to  their  ultimate 
effect;  and  finally,  that  if  they  did  not  wish  to  pay 
him  he  willingly  made  a  present  of  the  picture  to 
the  saint.  "And  thus  saying,"  adds  Vasari, 
"though  there  was  still  much  opposition,  he  pro- 
duced such  an  effect  that  the  work  is  there  to  this 
day."  Ridolfi,  enlarging  the  tale,  describes  how 
the  other  painters,  stupefied  by  the  sight  of  so  great 
a  work  executed  in  so  few  days  and  so  exquisitely 
ftnished,  gathered  up  their  drawings  and  told  the 
fraternity  that  they  withdrew  from  the  competition, 
Tintoretto  by  the  merit  of  his  work  having  fairly 
won  the  victory.  Notwithstanding  which  the  heads 
of  the  corporation  still  insisted  that  he  should  take 
away  his  picture;  declaring  that  they  had  given 
him  no  commission  to  paint  it,  but  had  desired  only 
to  have  sketches  submitted  to  them  that  they 
might  give  the  work  to  whoever  pleased  them  best. 
When,  however,  he  flung  the  picture  at  their  heads, 
so  to  speak,  and  they  found  themselves  obliged  to 
keep  it,  whether  they  liked  it  or  not  (for  they  could 
not  by  their  law  refuse  a  gift  made  to  their  saint) 
milder  counsels  prevailed,  and  finally  the  greater 
part  of  the  votes  were  given  to  Tintoretto,  and  it 
was  decided  that  he  should  be  paid  a  just  price  for 
his  work.  He  was  afterward  formally  appointed  to 
do  all  that  was  necessary  for  the  future  adornment 
of  the  scuola,  and  received  from  the  society  a  grant 
of  a  hundred  ducats  yearly  for  his  whole  life;  he 
on  his  side  binding  himself  to  paint  a  picture  for 
them  every  year. 

This  proceeding  proves  the  justice  of  what  Vasari 
says,  always  with  a  certain  half-amusement, 
"These  works,  and  many  others  which  he  left 
behind  him,  were  done  by  Tintoretto  so  rapidly  that 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  339 

when  others  scarcely  believed  him  to  have  begun 
he  had  finished;  and  the  wonderful  thing  was  that 
though  he  had  adopted  the  most  extravagant 
methods  in  the  world  to  secure  commissions,  yet, 
when  he  failed  to  do  so  by  interest  or  friendship,  he 
was  ready  to  sacrifice  all  gain  and  give  his  work  at 
a  small  price,  or  for  nothing,  so  as  to  force  its 
acceptance,  in  order  that  one  way  or  other  he  should 
succeed  in  getting  the  work  to  do." 

Ridolfi  adds  that  the  Scuola  of  San  Rocco,  when 
completed,  became  in  itself  a  sort  of  Accademia, 

The  resort  of  the  studious  in  painting,  and  in  particular  of  all 
the  foreigners  from  the  other  side  of  the  Alps  who  came  to 
Venice  at  that  time;  Tintoretto's  works  serving  as  examples 
of  composition,  of  grace,  and  harmony  of  design,  of  the  man- 
agement of  light  and  shade,  and  force  and  freedom  of  color ; 
and,  in  short,  of  all  that  can  be  called  most  accurate  and  can 
most  exhibit  the  gifts  of  the  ingenious  painter. 

The  pilgrim  from  beyond  the  Alps,  who  follows 
his  predecessors  into  the  echoing  halls  of  San 
Rocco,  can  judge  for  himself  still  of  the  great  works 
thus  eulogized,  and  see  the  picture  which  Tinto- 
retto fixed  upon  the  roof,  while  his  rivals  prepared 
their  drawings,  and  which  he  flung,  as  it  were,  at 
the  brotherhood  when  they  demurred.  His  footsteps 
are  all  over  Venice,  in  almost  every  church  and 
wherever  pictures  are  to  be  seen — from  the  great 
**Paradiso"  in  the  Council  Hall,  the  greatest  picture 
in  one  sense  in  the  world,  down  to  the  humblest 
chapels,  parish  churches,  sacristies,  there  is  scarcely 
an  opportunity  which  he  has  neglected  to  make  him- 
self seen  and  known.  According  to  the  evidence  of 
the  historians  of  art,  Titian  never  forgave  the  boy 
whose  greatness  he  had  foreseen,  and  there  is  at 
least  one  subject,  that  of  the  Presentation,  which 
the  two  painters  have  treated  with  a  certain  sim- 
ilarity, with  what  one  cannot  but  feel  must,  in  the 
person  of  the  younger  at  least,  have  been  an  in- 
tended rivalry.  These  two  splendid  examples  of  art 
remain,  if  not  side  by  side,  as  the  pictures  of  Tur- 


340  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

ner  hang  beside  the  serene  splendor  of  the  Claudes 
in  our  own  National  Gallery,  yet  with  an  emulation 
not  dissimilar,  which  in  some  minds  will  always 
militate  against  the  claims  of  the  artist  whose  aim 
is  to  prove  that  he  is  the  better  man.  The  same 
great  critic  who  has  been  the  life-long  champion  of 
Turner  against  the  claims  of  his  long  dead  rival  has 
in  like  manner  espoused  those  of  the  later  master 
in  Venice  And  in  respect  to  these  particular 
pictures,  they  are,  we  believe,  a  sort  of  test  of  art 
understanding  by  which  the  Illuminati  judge  the 
capacity  of  the  less  instructed  according  to  the 
preference  they  give.  However  that  may  be,  Tin- 
toretto's greatness,  the  wonderful  sweep  and  gran- 
deur which  his  contemporaries  call  stravagajite,  the 
lavish  power  with  which  he  treats  every  subject — 
nothing  too  great,  too  laborious,  for  his  hand — can- 
not fail  to  impress  the  beholder.  He  works  like  a 
giant,  flinging  himself  abroad  "upon  the  wings  of 
all  the  winds";  with  something  of  the  immortal 
Bottom  in  him,  determined  to  do  the  lion  too,  at 
which  a  keen  observer  like  Visari  cannot  but  smile; 
and  yet  no  clown  but  a  demi-god,  full  of  power,  if 
also  full  of  emulation  and  determination  to  be  the 
best.  But  the  man  is  still  more  remarkable  than 
his  work,  and  to  the  lover  of  human  nature  more 
interesting  —  an  ideal  Venetian,  rather  of  the 
fifteenth  than  of  the  sixteenth  century,  in  his  impe- 
rious independence  and  self-will  and  resolution  to 
own  no  master.  All  the  arrogance  of  the  well- 
to-do  citizen  is  in  him:  he  who  will  take  the  wall  of 
any  man,  and  will  not  yield  a  jot  or  tittle  of  his  own 
pretensions  for  the  most  splendid  gallant  or  the 
greatest  genius  in  Christendom;  one  who  is  not  to 
be  trifled  with  or  condescended  to — nor  will  submit 
to  any  parleying  about  his  work  or  undervaluing  of 
his  manhood.  No  fine  patrician,  no  company  even 
ot  his  townsfolk,  he  was  resolved  should  play 
patron  to  him.  He  did  not  require  their  money — 
one  large  ingredient  in  such  a  character;  he  could 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  341 

afford  to  do  without  them,  to  fling  his  pictures  at 
their  heads  if  need  were,  to  execute  their  commis- 
sions for  love,  or,  at  least,  for  glory,  not  for  their 
pay,  or  anything  they  could  do  for  him ;  but  all  the 
same  not  to  be  shut  out  from  any  competition  that 
w^as  going,  not  to  be  thrust  aside  by  the  foolish 
preference  of  the  emploj^er  for  any  other  workman; 
determined  that  he,  and  he  only,  should  have  every 
great  piece  of  work  there  was  to  do. 

Ridojfi,  who  lingers  upon  every  incident  with  the 
pleasure  of  an  enthusiast,  and  who  is  entirely  on 
Tintoretto's  side  against  Titian  and  all  his  fine  com- 
pany of  critics,  tells  how  the  painter  once  inquired 
— with  the  naivete  of  an  ignorance  which  he  was 
rather  proud  to  show  of  all  court  practices  and  finery 
— what  was  the  meaning  of  a  certain  act  which  he 
saw  performed  by  King  Henry  of  France  on  the 
occasion  of  his  visit  to  Venice.  Tintoretto  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  paint  a  portrait  of  the  king, 
with  a  sort  of  republican  sentiment,  half  admiration, 
half  contempt,  for  that  strange  animal,  and  in  order 
to  do  this  threw  aside  his  toga  (which  his  wife  had 
persuaded  him  to  wear,  though  he  had  no  real  right 
to  that  patrician  garment),  and,  putting  on  the 
livery  of  the  doge,  mingled  in  the  retinue  by  which 
his  majesty  was  attended,  and  hung  about  in  the 
antechambers,  marking  the  king's  individuality, 
his  features  and  ways,  until  his  presence  and  object 
were  discovered,  and  he  was  admitted  to  have  a 
formal  sitting.  The  painter  observed  that  from 
time  to  time  certain  personages  were  introduced  to 
the  king,  who  touched  them  lightly  on  the  shoulder 
with  his  sword,  adding  divers  ceremonies.  What 
did  it  mean,  he  asked  with  simplicity,  probably 
somewhat  affected,  as  the  courtier  chamberlain,  who 
was  his  friend,  approached  him  in  all  the  import- 
tance  of  office?  The  Polonius  of  the  moment 
explained  with  pompous  fullness,  and  added  that 
Tintoretto  must  prepare  to  go  through  the  same 
ceremony  in  his  own  person,  since  the  king  intended 


342  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

to  make  a  knight  of  him.  Ridolfi  says  that  the 
painter  modestly  declined  the  honor — more  proba- 
bly strode  off  with  sturdy  contempt  and  a  touch  of 
unrestrained  derision;  very  certain  that,  whatever 
Titian  and  the  others  might  think,  no  king's  touch 
upon  his  shoulder,  or  patent  of  rank  conferred,  could 
make  any  difference  to  him! 

And  notwithstanding  that  all  the  historians  are 
anxious  to  record,  as  a  set-off  against  these  wild 
ways,  the  fact  that  he  was  very  amiable  in  his  pri- 
vate life,  and  fond  of  music,  and  to  suonare  il  liuto, 
here  is  a  little  story  which  makes  us  feel  that  it  must 
have  been  somewhat  alarming  if  he  had  any  griev- 
ance against  one,  to  be  left  alone  with  Tintoretto. 
On  some  occasion  not  explained,  the  painter  met 
Pietro  Aretino,  the  infamous  but  much-courted  man 
of  letters,  who  was  the  center  of  the  fine  company, 
the  friend  of  Titian,  the  representative  ot  luxury 
and  corruption  in  Venice,  and  invited  him  to  his 
house,  under  pretense  of  painting  his  portrait. 

When  Aretino  had  come  in  and  disposed  himself  to  sit, 
Tintoretto  with  much  violence  drew  forth  a  pistol  from  under 
his  vest.  Aretino,  in  alarm,  fearing  that  he  was  about  to  be 
brought  to  account,  cried  out,  "What  are  yoti  doing,  Jacopo?" 
"I  am  going  to  take  your  measure,"  said  the  other.  And 
beginning  to  measure  from  the  head  to  the  feet,  at  last  he 
said  sedately,  "Your  height  is  two  pistols  and  a  half."  "Oh, 
you  mad  fellow!"  cried  the  other,  recovering  his  courage. 
But  Aretino  spoke  ill  of  Tintoretto  no  more. 

Perhaps  it  is  the  absence  of  what  we  may  call  the 
literary  faculty  in  these  great  painters  that  makes 
their  appeal  so  much  more  exclusively  to  the  con- 
noisseur in  art,  to  the  critic  qualified  to  judge  on 
technical  and  classical  rounds — to  the  expert,  in 
short — than  to  the  amateur  who  seeks  in  pictures 
and  in  books  the  sympathy  of  humanity,  the  fine 
suggestion  which  rouses  the  imagination,  the  touch 
that  goes  to  the  heart.  The  earlier  masters,  perhaps 
in  all  regions  (after  they  have  a  little  surmounted 
the  difficulties  of  pictorial  expression),  possess  this 
gift  in  higher  development  than  their  successors, 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  343 

who,  carrying  art  to  its  perfection  of  design  and 
color,  not  unusually  leave  the  heart  and  the  imagin- 
ation of  the  spectator  altogether  out  of  the  reckon- 
ing. The  Bellini  and  Carpaccio  are  all  strong  in  this 
impulse,  which  is  common  to  poet  and  story-teller, 
whether  in  the  graver  paths  of  history  or  in  the 
realms  of  fiction.  They  appeal  to  something  in  us 
which  is  more  than  the  eye;  they  never  lose  touch 
of  human  sentiment,  in  the  Venetian  streets  all  full 
of  a  hundred  histories;  in  the  legends  of  love  and 
martyrdom  which  are  of  universal  potency;  in  the 
sweetest  ideal  of  life,  the  consecrated  women  and 
children.  Ursula  wrapped  in  maiden  sleep,  with 
the  winged  angel  knight  touching  the  sweet  edge 
of  her  dreams ;  or  throned  in  a  simple  majesty  of 
youth  and  sacred  purity  and  love  divine,  the  Mother 
holding  up  to  men  and  angels  the  Hope  and  Savior 
of  mankind;  or  with  a  friendly  glow  of  sympathetic 
nature  diffused  all  round,  the  group  of  neighbors 
gazing  at  the  procession  in  the  Piazza,  the  women 
kneeling  on  the  edge  of  the  waterway  to  see  the 
sacred  relic  go  by.  Such  visions  do  not  come  to  us 
from  the  magnificence  of  Titian  or  the  gigantic 
power,  stravagame^  of  Tintoretto.  A  few  noble 
heads  of  senators  are  all  that  haunt  our  memory,  or 
enter  into  our  friendship  from  the  hand  of  the  latter 
painter;  and  even  they  are  too  stern  sometimes, 
too  authoritative  and  conscious  of  their  dignity,  that 
we  should  venture  to  employ  such  a  word  as  friend- 
ship. Titian's  senators  are  more  suave,  and  he 
leaves  us  now  and  then  a  magnificent  fair  lady  to 
fill  us  with  admiration — but  except,  one  or  two  of 
such  fine  images,  how  little  is  there  that  holds  pos- 
session of  our  love  and  liking,  and  as  we  turn  away, 
insists  on  being  remembered!  Not  anything  cer- 
tainly in  the  great  "Assumption,"  splendid  as  it  is, 
and  perfect  as  it  may  be.  Light,  shade,  color, 
science,  and  beauty,  are  all  there,  but  human  feel- 
ing has  been  left  out  in  the  magnificent  composition. 
1  return  for  my  part  with  a  great  and  tender  pleas- 


344  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

ure  to  the  silence  and  vast  solemnity  of  the  Frari, 
where  that  one  young  serious  face  in  the  great 
Pesaro  picture  looks  out  of  the  canvas  suddenly, 
wistfully,  asking  the  meaning  of  many  things,  into 
the  spectator's  heart — with  a  feeling  that  this  is 
about  the  one  thing  which  the  great  Titian  has  ever 
said  to  me. 

It  is  impossible  and  unnecessary  for  us,  standing 
in  the  place  of  the  unlearned,  to  go  into  full  detail 
of  the  painters  of  Venice,  or  discuss  the  special 
qualities  of  Cima  in  all  his  silvery  sweetness,  or  the 
gentle  Palma,  or  the  bolder  Pordenone,  or  the  long 
list  of  others  who  through  many  glowing  and 
beautiful  pieces  of  painting  conducted  art  from  per- 
fection to  decay.  The  student  knows  where  to  find 
all  that  can  be  said  on  the  subject,  which  has  indeed 
produced  an  entire  literature  of  its  own.  When  all 
is  said  that  can  be  said  about  the  few  inaccurate 
dates,  and  mistaken  stories,  with  which  he  is  cred- 
ited, Messer  Giorgio  of  Florence,  the  graphic  and 
delightful  Vasari,  remains  always  the  best  guide. 
But,  alas!  he  was  not  a  Venetian,  and  his  histories 
of  the  painters  of  Venice  are  generally  modified  by 
the  reflection,  more  or  less  disguised,  that  if  they 
had  but  had  the  luck  to  be  Florentines  they  might 
have  been  great:  or  at  least  must  have  been  much 
greater — even  the  great  Titian  himself. 

We  have  ventured  to  speak  of  some  of  the  works 
of  Titian  as  decorative  art.  The  productions  of  the 
last  great  painter  whose  name  will  naturally  recur 
to  every  lover  of  Venice,  the  splendid  and  knightly 
Paul  Veronese,  claim  this  character  still  more  dis- 
tinctively— as  if  the  great  republic,  unapproachable 
in  so  many  ways,  had  seized  a  new  splendor,  and 
instead  of  tapestries  or  humbler  mural  adornments, 
hadcontentedherself  with  nothing  less  than  the  hand 
of  genius  to  ornament  her  walls.  These  wonderful 
halls  and  balconies,  those  great  banquets  spread  as 
upon  a  more  lordly  dais  of  imagination  and  exquis- 
ite skill,  those  widening  vistas  of  columns  and  bal- 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  345 

ustrades  thronged  with  picturesque  retainers,  the 
tables  piled  with  glowing  fruit  and  vessels  of  gold 
and  silver,  in  a  mimic  luxury  more  magnificent  than 
any  fact,  transport  the  spectator  with  a  sense  of 
greatness,  of  wealth,  of  width  and  space,  and  ever 
beautiful  adornments,  which  perhaps  impairs  our 
appreciation  of  the  art  of  the  painter  in  its  purer 
essence.  No  king  ever  enlarged  and  furnished  and 
decorated  his  palace  like  the  Veronese;  the  fine 
rooms  in  which  these  pictures  are  hung  are  but  ante- 
chambers to  the  grander  space  which  opens  beyond 
in  the  painter's  canvas.  It  is  scarcely  enough, 
though  magnificent  in  its  way,  to  see  them  hanging 
like  other  pictures  in  a  gallery,  amon'g  the  works  of 
other  masters — for  then  their  purpose  is  lost,  and 
half  their  grandeur.  The  "Marriage  of  Cana"  is 
but  a  picture  in  the  Louvre ;  but  in  Venice,  as  we 
walk  into  such  a  presence  and  see  the  splendid  party 
serenely  banqueting,  with  the  sky  opening  into 
heavenly  blue  behind  them,  the  servants  bringing 
in  the  courses,  appearing  and  disappearing  behind  the 
columns,  the  carpet  flung  in  all  its  Oriental  wealth 
of  color  upon  the  cool  semi-transparence  of  the 
marble  steps,  the  room,  of  which  this  forms  one 
side,  is  transformed  forever.  Were  it  the  humblest 
chamber  in  the  world,  it  would  be  turned  into  a 
palace  before  our  eyes.  Never  were  there  such 
noble  and  princely  decorations;  they  widen  the 
space,  they  fill  the  far-withdrawing  anterooms 
with  groups  worthy  the  reception  of  a  king.  Mr. 
Ruskin  gives  a  lively  account,  from  the  records  of 
Venice,  of  how  Messer  Paolo  was  had  up  before  the 
Inquisition,  no  less,  on  the  charge  of  having  intro- 
duced unbecoming  and  undignified  figures,  negra 
pages,  and  even  little  dogs,  into  pictures  meant  for 
the  church — where,  indeed,  such  details  were,  no 
doubt,  out  of  places.  But  Paul  of  Verona  was  not 
the  man  to  paint  religious  pictures,  having  no  turn 
that  way.  He  is  a  painter  for  palaces,  not  for 
churches.     Mind  of  man   never  devised  presence 


346  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

chamber  or  splendid  hall  that  he  could  not  have 
rendered  more  splendid.  Notwithstanding  the 
prominence  of  the  negro  pages,  and  many  an  attend- 
ant beside,  his  lords  of  the  feast  are  all  the  finest 
gentlemen,  his  women  courtly  and  magnificent.  It 
is  the  best  of  company  that  sits  at  that  table, 
whether  the  wine  is  miraculous  or  only  the  common 
juice  of  the  grape;  even  should  the  elaboration  of 
splendid  dress  be  less  than  that  which  Titian  loves. 
The  effect  is  a  more  simple  one  than  his,  the  result 
almost  more  complete.  So  might  the  walls  of  hea- 
ven be  painted,  the  vestibules  and  the  corridors: 
still  leaving,  as  poor  Florentine  Andrea  sighs  in 
Mr.  Browning's  poem,  "four  great  walls  in  the 
New  Jerusalem"  for  a  higher  emulation, 

"For  Leonard,  Raphael,  Agnolo,  and  me" 
to  try  their  best  upon. 

The  fashion  of  fresco  painting  on  the  outsides  ot 
the  houses  still  continued,  and  was  largely  practiced 
also  by  Paolo  Veronese ;  but  let  us  hope  that  the  far 
more  splendid  internal  decoration  supplied  by  his 
pictures  had  some  effect,  along  with  the  good  sense 
native  to  the  Venetians  and  their  sound  practical 
faculty,  in  putting  an  end  to  so  great  a  waste  of 
power  and  genius  as  these  outside  pictures  proved. 
They  were  already  fading  out  by  Paolo's  time,  sink- 
ing into  pale  shadows  of  what  they  had  been,  those 
pictured  images  with  which  Giorgione  and  young 
Titian  had  made  the  ugly  German  factory  for  a 
moment  glorious:  and  the  art  which  had  been  so 
superb  in  their  hands  had  sunk  also  to  the  execution 
of  pictured  colonnades  and  feigned  architecture, 
such  as  still  lingers  about  Italy,  not  to  anyone's 
advantage.  Upon  such  things  as  these,  false  per- 
spectives and  fictitious  grand  facades  with  imitation 
statues  in  unreal  relief,  even  Paolo  spent  much  of 
his  time,  though  he  could  do  so  much  better.  And 
thus  the  fashion  wore  itself  into  poverty  and  decad- 
ence, as  fashions  have  a  way  of  doing,  going  out  in 
ridicule  as  well  as  in  decay. 


PART  IV.— MEN  OF  LETTERS. 


CHAPTER  I. 


THE    GUEST    OF    VENICE. 


Nothing  can  be  more  difficult  to  explain  than  the 
manner  in  which  the  greater  gifts  of  human  genius 
are  appropriated — to  some  regions  lavishly,  to 
some  scarcely  at  all,  notwithstanding  that  the  intel- 
lectual qualities  of  the  race  may  be  as  good,  pos- 
sibly indeed  may  reach  a  higher  average  in  the  one 
neglected  than  in  the  one  favored.  We  fear  that  no 
theory  that  has  ever  been  invented  will  suffice  to 
explain  why  the  great  form  of  Dante,  like  a  moun- 
tain shadowing  over  the  whole  peninsula,  should 
have  been  given  to  Florence,  and  nothing  to  Ven- 
ice, not  so  much  as  a  minor  minstrel  to  celebrate 
the  great  deeds  of  the  republic  which  was  the  most 
famous  and  the  greatest  of  all  Italian  republics,  and 
which  maintained  its  independence  when  all  its 
rivals  and  sisters  lost  theirs.  Petrarch,  too,  was 
a  Florentine  by  origin,  only  not  born  there  because 
of  one  of  the  accidents  of  ■  her  turbulent  history. 
Boccaccio,  the  first  of  Italian  story-tellers,  belonged 
to  the  same  wonderful  city.  But  to  Venice  on  her 
seas,  with  the  charm  of  a  great  poem  in  every  vari- 
ation of  her  aspect,  with  the  harmonies  of  the  sea 
in  her  very  streets,  not  one.  We  have  to  find  her 
reflected  in  the  mild  eyes  of  a  temporary  visitor,  in 
the  learned  and  easy  yet  formal  talk  of  the  friendly 
canon,  half  French,  half  Italian,  who,  all  the  vagar- 
ies ot  his  youth  over,  came,  elderly  and  famous,  and 
never  without  an  eye  to  his  own  comfort  and  inter- 
est, to  visit  the  great  Mistress  for  the  Seas,  taking 

347 


348  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

refuge  there,  "in  this  city,  true  home  of  the  human 
race,"  from  trouble  and  war  and  pestilence  outside. 
The  picture  given  by  Dom  Francesco,  the  great 
poet,  laureate  of  all  the  world,  the  friend  of  kings 
and  princes,  is  in  some  ways  very  flattering  to  our 
city.  He  was  received  with  great  honor  there  as 
everywhere,  and  found  himself  in  the  center  of  an 
enlightened  and  letter-loving  society.  But  his  res- 
idence was  only  temporary,  and,  save  Petrarch,  no 
poet  of  a  high  order  has  ever  associated  himself  with 
the  life  of  Venice,  much  less  owed  his  birth  or 
breeding  to  her.  The  reader  will  not  fail  to  recol- 
lect another  temporary  and  recent  visitor,  whose 
traces  are  still  to  be  seen  about  Venice,  and  whose 
record  remains,  though  not  such  as  any  lover  of 
poetry  would  love  to  remember,  in  all  the  extrava- 
gance and  ostentatious  folly  natural  to  the  character 
of  Lord  Byron;  but  that  was  in  the  melancholy 
days  when  Venice  had  almost  ceased  to  be.  Save 
tor  such  visitors  and  for  certain  humble  breathings 
of  the  nameless,  such  as  no  homely  village  is  entirely 
without,  great  Venice  has  no  record  in  poetry. 
Her  powerful,  vigorous,  subtle,  and  imaginative 
race  has  never  learned  how  to  frame  the  softest 
dialect  of  Italy,  the  most  musical  ot  tongues,  into 
any  lined  sweetness  of  verse.  The  reason  is  one 
which  we  cannot  pretend  to  divine,  and  which  no 
law  of  development  or  natural  selection  seems  cap- 
able of  accounting  for. 

Petrarch  was  not  only  a  poet,  but  a  patriot  in  the 
larger  sense  of  the  word — a  sense  scarcely  known 
in  his  day.  Perhaps  the  circumstances  that  he  was 
an  exile  from  his  birth,  and  that  his  youth  had  been 
sheltered  in  a  neighboring  country,  from  which  he 
could  see  in  all  the  force  of  perspective  the  madness 
of  those  Italian  states  which  spent  all  their  strength 
in  tearing  each  other  in  pieces,  had  elevated  him  to 
that  pitch  of  enlightenment,  unknown  to  the  fierce 
inhabitants  of  Genoa,  Venice,  and  Florence,  each 
determined  to  the  death  that  his  own  city  should  be 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  349 

the  first.  Petrarch  is  worthy  of  a  higher  niche  for 
this  than  for  his  poetry,  a  civic  wreath  above  his 
laurel.  His  first  appearance  in  connection  with 
Venice  is  in  a  most  earnest  and  eloquent  letter 
addressed  to  his  friend  Andrea  Dandolo,  the  first 
serious  chronicler  of  Venice,  and  a  man  learned  in 
all  the  knowledge  of  the  time,  whom  the  poet,  who 
probably  had  made  acquaintance  with  the  noble 
Venetian  at  learned  Padua,  or  in  some  neighboring 
court  or  castle  whither  scholars  and  wits  loved  to 
resort,  addresses  with  an  impassioned  pleading  for 
peace.  One  of  the  endless  wars  with  Genoa  was 
then  beginning,  and  Petrarch  adduces  every  arga 
ment,  and  appeals  to  every  motive — above  all  "Ital- 
ian as  1  am,"  to  the  dreadful  folly  which  drives  to 
arms  against  each  other 

the  two  most  powerful  peoples,  the  two  most  flourishing 
cities,  the  two  most  splendid  stars  of  Italy,  which,  to  my  judg- 
ment, the  great  mother  nature  has  placed  here  and  there, 
posted  at  the  doorway  of  the  Italian  race.  Italians,  for  the 
ruin  of  Italians,  invoke  the  help  of  barbarous  allies  [he  adds]. 
And  what  hope  of  aid  can  remain  to  unhappy  Italy  when,  as 
if  it  were  a  small  matter  to  see  her  sons  turn  against  her, 
she  is  overrun  also  by  strangers  called  by  them  to  help  in  the 
parricide? 

But  not  even  enlightened  Dandolo,  the  scholar 
doge,  thought  of  Italy  in  those  days,  and  though  the 
poet's  protest  does  not  seem  to  have  alienated  his 
friend,  it  was  entirely  without  avail.  Two  years 
after,  in  1353,  an  embassy,  of  which  Petrarch  was 
one  of  the  principal  members,  was  sent  from  Milan, 
on  the  part  of  the  Visconti,  to  attempt  to  negotiate 
a  peace.  This  was  not  his  first  visit  to  Venice,  and 
it  cannot  hai^e  been  an  agreeable  one.  One  of  the 
chroniclers  indeed  says  that  much  as  Doge  Andrea 
loved  the  poet,  and  strong  as  was  the  attraction  of 
such  a  visitor  to  a  man  of  his  tastes,  the  occasion 
was  so  painful  that  he  refused  to  see  Petrarch.  It 
does  not  seem,  however,  that  this  was  the  case,  for 
the  poet,  in  a  subsequent  letter  to  Dandolo,  reminds 
the  doge  ot  his  visit  and  its  object.     After  two 


S50  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

battles, — after  the  Hellespont  and  the  Ionian  sea 
had  twice  been  reddened  by  such  a  lake  of  blood  as 
might  well  extinguish  the  flames  of  cruel  war, — *'at 
mediator  of  peace,  I  was  sent  by  our  greatest 
among  great  Italians  to  you,  the  most  wise  of  all 
the  doges,  and  to  your  citizens.  Such  and  so  many 
things  I  said  in  the  council  over  which  you  presided, 
such  and  so  many  in  your  private  rooms,  as  must 
still  remain  in  your  ears.  But  all  was  in  vain;  for 
neither  your  great  men,  nor,  what  was  more  wonder- 
ful, yourself,  could  be  moved  by  any  salutary  coun- 
sel or  just  prayer — the  impetuosity  of  war,  the 
clamor  of  arms,  the  remains  of  ancient  hatred  hav- 
ing closed  the  way."  The  letter  in  which  Petrarch 
repeats  this  fruitless  attempt  at  mediation  was  writ- 
ten in  May,  1354,  a  year  after,  and  still  with  the 
same  object.  The  Venetians  had  been  conquerers 
on  the  first  occasion,  but  the  fortune  of  war  had 
now  turned,  and  in  September  of  the  same  year 
Doge  Andrea  died,  just  before  one  of  those  final  and 
crushing  defeats  which  Venice  over  and  over  again 
.had  to  submit  to  from  Genoa,  without  ever  ceasing 
to  seize  the  first  opportunity  of  beginning  again. 

It  was  not,  however,  till  several  years  after  that 
it  occurred  to  the  much- wandering  poet  to  fix  his 
habitation  in  Venice.  This  was  in  the  latter  por- 
tion of  Petrarch's  life.  Romance  and  Laura  had 
long  departed  out  of  it.  He  was  already  the 
crowned  poet,  acknowledged  the  greatest,  and, 
save  for  an  occasional  sonnet  or  two,  cultivated 
divine  poetry  no  more.  He  was  a  person  of  ease 
and  leisure,  much  courted  by  the  most  eminent 
persons  in  Europe,  accustomed  to  princely  tables 
and  to  familiar  intercourse  with  every  magnate 
within  reach ;  accustomed,  too,  to  consider  his  own 
comfort  and  keep  danger  and  trouble  at  a  distance. 
Disorder  and  war  and  pestilence  drove  him  from 
one  place  to  another — from  Milan  to  Padua,  from 
Padua  to  Venice.  He  had  fulfilled  many  dignified 
missions  as  ambassador  to  various  courts,  and  he 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  S5i 

was  not  a  man  who  could  transfer  himself  from 
one  city  to  another  without  observation.  It  would 
seem  that  when,  driven  by  the  fear  of  the  plague, 
and  by  the  horror  of  those  continued  conflicts  which 
were  rending  Italy  from  day  to  day — that  Italy 
which  he  was  almost  alone  in  considering  as  one 
country — he  turned  his  eyes  toward  \renice,  it  was 
with  some  intention  of  making  it  his  permanent 
home ;  for  the  preliminary  negotiations  into  which 
he  entered  show  a  desire  to  establish  himself  for 
which  he  does  not  seem  to  have  taken  any  such 
precautions  before.  One  of  the  best  known  of  all 
facts  in  the  history  of  literature  is  that  the  poet  left 
his  library  to  the  republic,  and  the  unworthy  man- 
ner in  which  that  precious  bequest  was  received. 
But  it  has  not  been  noted  with  equal  distinctness 
that  the  prudent  poet  made  this  gift,  not  as  a  leg- 
acy because  of  his  love  for  Venice,  which  is  the 
light  in  which  it  has  generally  been  regarded,  but 
as  an  offer  of  eventual  advantage  in  order  to  pro- 
cure from  the  authorities  a  fit  lodging  and  reception 
for  himself.  This,  however,  is  the  true  state  of 
the  case.  He  puts  it  forth  in  a  letter  to  his  old 
friend  and  agent  Benintendi,  the  chancellor  of  the 
republic,  in  whose  hands  it  would  seem  he  had 
placed  his  cause.  A  certain  plausible  and  bland  in- 
sistence upon  the  great  benefit  to  Venice  of  a  public 
library,  of  which  the  poet's  books  should  be  the 
foundation,  discreetly  veils  the  important  condition 
that  the  poet's  own  interests  should  be  served  in 
the  meantime. 

If  the  effort  succeeds  [he  says]  I  am  of  opinion  that  your 
posterity  and  your  republic  will  owe  to  you,  if  not  their 
glory,  yet  at  least  the  opening  of  the  way  to  glory.  And  oh 
[he  adds  piously]  if  it  had  but  been  thought  of  when  the  com- 
monwealth was  governed  by  that  most  holy  spirit  to  whom, 
as  you  who  knew  him  well  will  understand,  it  would  have 
afforded  so  much  delight.  For  my  part,  I  do  not  doubt  that 
even  in  the  heavens  he  is  glad  of  our  design  and  anxiously 
awaits  its  success.  I  believe  also  that,  looking  down  lovingly 
without  a  grudge,  it  will  greatly  please  him,  having  himself 


B52  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

earned  such  glory  and  honor  as  on  other  Venetian  doge  did 
before  him,  that  the  glory  of  instituting  a  public  library 
should  have  been  reserved  for  the  fourth  of  his  successors,  a 
man  also  so  excellent,  a  noble  doge  and  zealous  of  the  public 
good. 

This  invocation  of  the  sainted  shade  of  Andrea 
Dandolo,  the  much-lamented  doge,  to  sanctify  an 
effort  the  immediate  object  of  which  was  the  acqui- 
sition of  a  handsome  house  for  Dom  Francesco  the 
poet,  has  a  flavor  of  Tartu ffe,  or  at  least  cf  Peck- 
sniff, which  may  make  the  reader  smile.  It  was, 
however,  a  perfectly  legitimate  desire,  and  no 
doubt  Petrarch's  books  were  valuable,  and  the  sug- 
gestion of  a  public  library  an  admirable  thing;  and 
it  was  to  the  credit  of  the  republic  that  the  bargain 
was  at  once  made,  and  the  poet  got  his  house,  a 
palace  upon  the  Riva  degli  Schiavoni — the  Palazzo 
delle  due  Torri,  now  no  longer  in  existence,  but 
which  is  commemorated  by  an  inscription  upon  the 
house  which  replaces  it.  It  was  situated  at  the  cor- 
ner of  the  Ponte  del  Sepolcro.  In  a  curious  illumi- 
nation, taken  from  a  manuscript  in  the  Bodleian 
Library,  the  two  towers  are  visible,  rising  from 
among  the  picturesque  roofs,  over  the  quay  from 
which  the  Eastern  merchants,  the  Pali,  are  to  be 
seen  setting  out  upon  their  voyage. 

This  was  in  the  year  1362.  He  had  visited  Venice 
in  his  youth,  when  a  student  at  Bologna.  He  had 
returned  in  the  fullness  of  his  fame  as  the  ambassa- 
dor of  the  Prince  of  Milan  to  negotiate  peace  with 
Genoa,  though  the  attempt  was  vain.  He  was  now 
approaching  his  sixtieth  year,  full  of  indignation  and 
sorrow  for  the  fate  of  his  country,  denouncing  to 
earth  and  heaven  the  horrible  bands  of  mercenaries 
who  devastated  Italy,  bringing  rapine  and  pesti- 
lence— and  tor  his  own  part  intent  upon  finding  a 
peaceful  home,  security  and  health.  His  letters 
afford  us  a  wonderfully  real  glimpse  of  the  condi- 
tions of  the  time.  In  one  of  them,  written  soon 
after  his  settlement  in  Venice,  to  an  old  friend,  he 


THE  MAKERS  Ot  VENICE.  368 

defends  himself  for  having  fallen  into  the  weakness 
of  age,  the  laudator  temporis  acti.  He  reviews  in  this 
epistle  the  scenes  in  which  his  youth  and  that  of  his 
friend  were  passed;  the  peace,  the  serenity,  the 
calm  of  these  early  days;  comparing  them  with  the 
universal  tumult  and  misery  of  the  existing  time; 
denying  that  the  change  was  in  himself  or  his  ideas, 
and  painting  a  dismal  picture  of  the  revolution 
everywhere — the  wars,  the  bands  of  assassins  and 
robbers  let  loose  on  the  earth,  the  universal  wretch- 
edness. **This  same  city,"  he  adds,  "from  which  I 
write,  this  Venice  which,  by  the  far-sightedness  of 
her  citizens  and  by  the  advantage  of  her  natural 
position,  appears  more  powerful  and  tranquil  than 
any  other  part  of  the  world,  though  quiet  and 
serene,  is  no  longer  festive  and  gay  as  she  once 
was,  and  wears  an  aspect  very  different  from  that 
prosperity  and  gladness  which  she  presented  when 
first  I  came  hither  with  my  tutor  from  Bologna. " 
But  these  words  are  very  different  from  the  phrases 
he  employs  in  speaking  of  other  cities.  Venice,  as 
has  been  seen  in  previous  chapters,  had  trouble 
enough  with  the  mercenary  armies  of  the  time 
when  they  were  in  her  pay;  but  she  was  safe  on  her 
sea  margin  with  wide  lagoons  around  her,  unap- 
proachable by  the  heavy-mailed  troopers  who  might 
appear  any  day  under  the  walls  of  a  rich  inland  city 
and  put  her  to  sack  or  ransom.  With  all  the  force 
of  his  soul  the  poet  loathed  these  barbarous  invad- 
ers, the  terror  of  his  life  and  the  scourge  of  Italy, 
into  whose  hands  the  Italian  states  themselves  had 
placed  weapons  for  their  own  destruction;  and  it  is 
with  a  sense  of  intense  repose  and  relief  that  he 
settles  down  in  his  stately  house  looking  out  upon 
the  wide  harbor,  upon  San  Giorgio  among  its  trees, 
and  the  green  line  of  the  Lido,  and  all  the  winding 
watery  ways,  well  defended  by  fort  and  galley, 
which  led  to  the  sea.  The  bustle  of  the  port  under 
his  windows,  the  movement  of  the  ships,  would 
seem   at  once   to  have  caught,  with  the  charm  of 

23  Venice 


§^4  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENIC£. 

their  novelty  and  wonder,  his  observant  eyes. 
Shortly  after  his  settlement  on  the  Riva  he  wrote 
a  letter  full  of  wise  and  serious  advice  to  another 
friend,  who  had  been  appointed  secretary  to  the 
Pope — an  office  not  long  before  offered  to  himself. 
But  in  the  very  midst  of  his  counsels,  quoting 
Aristotle  on  the  question  of  art,  he  bursts  forth 
into  comment  upon  la  nautica^  to  which,  he  says, 
"after  justice,  is  owing  the  wonderful  prosperity  of 
this  famous  city,  in  which,  as  in  a  tranquil  port,  I 
have  taken  refuge  from  the  storms  of  the  world. 
See,"  he  cries,  '*the  innumerable  vessels  which  set 
forth  from  the  Italian  shore  in  the  desolate  winter, 
in  the  most  variable  and  stormy  spring,  one  turning 
its  prow  to  the  east,  the  other  to  the  west;  some 
carrying  our  wine  to  foam  in  British  cups,  our  fruits 
to  flatter  the  palates  of  the  Scytians,  and,  still  more 
hard  of  credence,  the  wood  of  our  forests  to  the 
^gean  and  the  Achaian  isles;  some  to  Syria,  to 
Armenia,  to  the  Arabs  and  Persians,  carrying  oil 
and  linen  and  saffron,  and  bringing  back  all  their 
diverse  goods  to  us." 

Let  me  persuade  you  to  pass  another  hour  in  my  company. 
It  was  the  depth  of  night  and  the  heavens  were  full  of  storm, 
and  I,  already  weary  and  half  asleep,  had  come  to  an  end  of 
my  writing,  when  suddenly  a  burst  of  shouts  from  the  sailors 
penetrated  my  ear.  Aware  of  what  these  shouts  should  mean 
from  former  experience,  I  rose  hastily  and  went  up  to  the 
higher  windows  of  this  house,  which  look  out  upon  the  port. 
Oh,  what  a  spectacle !  mingled  with  feelings  of  pity,  of  won- 
der, of  fear,  and  of  delight.  Resting  on  their  anchors  close 
to  the  marble  banks  which  serve  as  a  mole  to  the  vast  palace 
which  this  free  and  liberal  city  has  conceded  to  me  for  my 
dwelling,  several  vessels  have  passed  the  winter,  exceeding 
with  the  height  of  their  masts  and  spars  the  two  towers  which 
flank  my  house.  The  larger  of  the  two  was  at  this  moment — 
though  the  stars  were  all  hidden  by  the  clouds,  the  winds 
shaking  the  walls,  and  the  roar  of  the  sea  filling  the  air — leav- 
ing the  quay  and  setting  out  upon  its  voyage.  Jason  and 
Hercules  would  have  been  stupefied  with  wonder,  and 
Tiphys,  seated  at  the  helm,  would  have  been  ashamed  of  the 
nothing  which  won  hi:  i  so  much  fame.  If  you  have  seen  it, 
^ou  would  have  said  it  was  no  ship  but  a  mountain  swimming 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  ^S 

upon  the  sea,  although  tinder  the  weight  of  its  immense  wings 
a  great  part  of  it  was  hidden  in  the  waves.  The  end  of  the 
voyage  was  to  be  the  Don,  beyond  which  nothing  can  navigate 
from  our  seas ;  but  many  of  those  who  were  on  board,  when 
they  had  reached  that  point,  meant  to  prosecute  their  jour- 
ney; never  pausing  till  .they  had  reached  the  Ganges  or  the 
Caucasus,  India  and  the  Eastern  Ocean.  So  far  does  love  of 
gain  stimulate  the  human  mind !  Pity  seized  me,  I  confess, 
for  these  unfortunates,  and  I  perceived  how  right  the  poet 
was  who  called  sailors  wretched.  And  being  able  no  longer 
to  follow  them  with  my  eyes  into  the  darkness,  with  much 
emotion  I  took  up  mv  pen  again,  exclaiming  within  myself, 
"Oh,  how  dear  is  life  to  all  men,  and  in  how  little  account 
they  hold  it!" 

It  is  evident  that  the  beginning  of  his  stay  in 
Venice  was  very  agreeable  to  the  poet.  He  had 
not  been  long  established  in  the  palace  of  the  two 
towers  when  Boccaccio,  like  himself  seeking  refuge 
from  the  plague  and  from  the  wars,  came  to  visit 
him,  and  remained  three  months,  enjoying  the  calm, 
the  lovely  prospect,  the  wonderful  city,  and,  what 
was  still  more,  the  learned  society  which  Petrarch 
had  already  gathered  around  him.  The  scholars 
and  the  wits  of  those  days  were  sufficiently  few  to 
be  known  to  each  other,  and  to  form  a  very  close 
and  exclusive  little  republic  of  letters  in  every  cen- 
ter of  life.  But  in  Venice  even  these  learned  per- 
sonages owned  the  charm  of  the  locality,  and  met 
not  only  in  their  libraries  among  their  books,  or  at 
the  classic  feasts,  where  the  gossip  was  of  Cicero 
and  Cato,  of  Vergil  and  of  Ovid,  and  not  of  nearer 
neighbors — where  every  man  had  his  classical 
alhision,  his  quotations,  his  talk  of  Helicon  and 
Olympus — but  on  the  soft  and  level  waters,  the 
brimming,  wide  lagoon,  like  lesser  men.  When 
Petrarch  invites  the  great  story-teller  of  Florence 
to  renew  his  visit,  he  reminds  him  of  those  **elect 
friends"  with  whom  he  had  already  made  acquaint- 
ance, and  how  the  dignified  Benintendi,  though 
devoted  to  public  business  all  day,  yet  in  the  falling 
of  the  evening,  with  light-hearted  and  friendly 
countenance,  would  come  in  his  gondola  to  refresh 


S56  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

himself  with  pleasant  talk  from  the  fatigues  of  the 
day.  "You  know  by  experience,"  he  says,  "how 
delightful  were  those  nocturnal  rambles  on  the  sea, 
and  that  conversation  enlightened  and  sincere. "  To 
think  of  Boccaccio  stepping  forth  with  Petrarch 
upon  the  Riva,  taking  a  boat  in  those  soft  summer 
nights,  m  ml  Jew  della  sera,  m  the  making  of  the 
evening,  when  the  swift  shadows  fell  across  the 
glimmering  distance,  and  the  curves  of  the  lagoon 
caught  the  first  touches  of  the  moonlight,  comes 
upon  us  with  a  delightful  contrast,  yet  likeness  to 
the  scenes  more  associated  with  their  names.  The 
fountain  of  Vaucluse  and  Laura's  radiant  image, 
the  gardens  and  glades  of  the  "Decameron,"  with 
all  their  youths  and  maidens,  were  less  suitable 
now  to  the  elderly  poets  than  that  talk  of  all  things 
in  earth  and  heaven,  which  in  the  dusk,  upon  the 
glistening  levels  of  the  still  water,  two  friendly 
gondolas,  softly  gliding  on  in  time,  would  pass 
from  one  to  another  in  interchanges  sometimes  pen- 
sive, sometimes  playful,  in  gentle  arguments  long 
drawn  out,  and  that  mutual  comparison  of  the  facts 
of  lite  and  deductions  from  them  which  form  the 
conversation  of  old  men.  There  were  younger 
companions,  too,  like  that  youth  of  Ravenna  of 
whom  Petrarch  writes,  "whom  you  do  not  know, 
but  who  knov/s  you  well,  having  seen  you  in  this 
house  of  mine,  which,  like  all  that  belongs  to  me, 
is  yours,  and,  according  to  the  use  of  youth,  watched 
you  daily,"  who  would  join  the  poets  in  their  even- 
ing row,  and  hang  about  the  gondola  of  the  great 
men  to  catch  perhaps  some  word  of  wisdom,  some 
classical  comparison;  while,  less  reverential,  yet 
not  without  a  respectful  curiosity,  the  other  boats 
that  skimmed  across  the  lagoon  would  pause  a 
minute  to  point  out — the  lover  to  his  lady,  the  gon- 
dolier to  his  master — the  smooth  and  urbane  looks 
of  him  who  had  been  crowned  at  Rome  the  greatest 
of  living  poets,  and  the  Florentine  at  his  side,  the 
romancer  of  his  age — two  such  men  as  could  not  be 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  357 

equaled  anywhere,  the  guests  of  Venice.  No 
doubt  neither  lute  nor  song  was  wanting  to  chime 
in  with  the  tinkle  of  the  wave  upon  the  boats  and 
the  measured  pulsation  of  the  oars.  .  And  as  they 
pushed  forth  upon  the  lagoon,  blue  against  the 
latest  yellow  of  the  sunset,  would  rise  the  separate 
cones  and  peaks  of  the  Euganeans,  among  which 
lay  little  Arqua,  still  unnoted,  where  the  laureate 
of  the  world  was  to  leave  his  name  forever.  The 
grave  discussions  of  that  moment  to  come,  of  the 
sunset  of  life,  and  how  each  man  endured  or  took 
a  pensive  pleasure  in  its  falling  shadows,  would  be 
dismissed  with  a  smile  as  the  silvery /^rr^  glided 
slowly  round  like  a  swan  upon  the  water,  and  the 
pleased  companions  turned  to  where  the  two  tow- 
ers rose  over  the  bustling  Riva,  and  the  lighted 
windows  shone,  and  the  table  was  spread.  '"Vtem 
dunque  mvocato^'"  says  the  poet,  as  he  recalls  those 
delights  to  the  mind  of  his  friend.  "The  gentle 
season  invites  to  where  no  other  cares  await  you 
but  those  pleasant  and  joyful  occupations  of  the 
Muses,  to  a  house  most  healthful,  which  I  do  not 
describe,  because  you  know  it."  It  is  strange, 
however,  to  remember  that  these  thoughtful  old 
men,  in  the  reflective  leisure  of  their  waning 
years,  are  the  lover  of  Laura  and  the  author  of  the 
"Decameron." 

On  another  occasion  the  poet  puts  before  us  a 
picture  of  a  different  character,  but  also  full  of  in- 
terest. It  is  on  the  4th  of  June,  1364,  a  memorable 
day,  and  he  is  seated  at  his  window  with  a  friend, 
looking  out  over  the  ampto  mare^  the  full  sea  which 
spreads  before  him.  The  friend  was  one  of  his 
oldest  and  dearest  companions,  his  schoolfellow, 
and  the  comrade  of  his  entire  life,  now  Archbishop 
of  Patras,  and  on  his  way  to  his  see,  but  pausing  to 
spend  the  summer  in  that  most  healthful  of  houses 
with  the  happy  poet.  The  two  old  friends,  newly 
met,  sat  together  looking  out  upon  that  lively  and 
brilliant    scene,    as    they    talked    and    exchanged 


358  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

remembrances,  when   their    conversation    was  dis- 
turbed by  a  startling  incident. 

Suddenly  and  without  warning  there  rose  upon  our  sight 
one  of  those  long  vessels  which  are  called  galleys,  crowded 
with  green  branches,  and  with  all  the  force  of  its  rowers  mak- 
ing for  the  port.  At  this  unexpected  sight  we  broke  off  our 
conversation,  and  telt  a  hope  springing  in  our  hearts  that  such 
a  ship  must  be  the  bearer  of  good  news.  As  the  swelling  sails 
drew  near  the  joyful  aspect  of  the  sailors  became  visible,  and 
a  handful  of  young  men,  also  crowned  with  green  leaves  and 
with  joyous  countenances,  standing  on  the  prow,  waving  flags 
over  their  heads,  and  saluting  the  victorious  city  as  yet  una- 
ware of  her  own  triumph.  Already  from  the  highest  tower  the 
approach  of  a  strange  ship  had  been  signaled,  and  not  by  any 
command,  but  moved  by  the  most  eager  curiosity,  the  citi- 
zens from  every  part  of  the  town  rushed  together  in  a  crowd 
to  the  shore.  And  as  the  ship  came  nearer  and  everything 
could  be  seen  distinctly,  hanging  from  the  poop  we  perceived 
the  flag  of  the  enemy,  and  there  remained  no  doubt  that  this 
was  to  announce  a  victory. 

A  victory  it  was,  one  of  the  greatest  which  had 
been  gained  by  Venetian  arms,  the  recapture  of 
Candia  (Crete),  with  little  bloodshed  and  great  glory 
to  the  republic,  though  it  is  somewhat  difficult  to 
understand  Petrarch's  grand  assumption  that  it  was 
the  triumph  of  justice  more  than  of  Venice  which 
intoxicated  the  city  with  delight.  He  rises  into 
ecstatic  strains  as  he  -describes  the  rejoicings  of  the 
triumphant  state. 

What  finer,  what  more  magnificent  spectacle  could  be  than 
the  just  joy  which  fills  a  city,  not  for  damage  done  to  the 
enemy's  possessions  or  for  the  gains  of  civic  rivalry  such  as 
are  prized  elsewhere,  but  solely  for  the  triumph  of  justice? 
Venice  exults;  the  august  city,  the  sole  shelter,  in  our  days, 
of  liberty,  justice,  and  peace;  the  sole  refuge  of  the  good;  the 
only  port  in  which,  beaten  down  everywhere  else  by  tyranny 
and  war,  the  ships  of  those  men  who  seek  to  lead  a  tranquil 
life  may  find  safety  and  restoration ;  a  city  rich  in  gold  but 
more  rich  in  fame,  potent  in  strength  but  more  in  virtue, 
founded  upon  solid  marble,  but  upon  yet  more  solid  founda- 
tions of  concord  and  harmony — and,  even  more  than  by  the 
sea  which  girds  her,  by  the  prudent  wisdom  of  her  sons 
defended  and  made  secure.  Venice  exults,  not  only  over  the 
regained  sovereignty  of  Crete,  which,  whatsoever  great  in 
antique  splendor,  is  but  a  small  matter  to  great  spirits  accus- 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  859 

tomed  to  esteem  lightly  all  that  is  not  virtue ;  but  she  exults 
in  the  event  with  good  reason,  and  takes  pleasure  in  the 
thought  that  the  right  is  victorious — that  is  to  say,  not  her 
proper  cause  alone,  but  that  of  justice. 

It  is  clear  from  this  that  the  triumph  in  the  air 
had  got  into  the  poet's  head,  and  the  g^reat  con- 
tagion of  popular  enthusiasm  had  carried  him  away. 
He  proceeds  to  relate,  as  well  as  "the  poverty  of  my 
style  and  my  many  occupations"  will  permit,  the 
joyful  progress  of  the  thanksgiving  and  national 
rejoicing. 

When  the  orators  landed  and  recounted  everything  to  the 
Great  Council,  every  hope  and  anticipation  were  found  to  fall 
short  of  the  truth ;  the  enemy  had  been  overcome,  taken,  cut 
to  pieces,  dispersed  in  hopeless  flight;  the  citizens  restored  to 
freedom,  the  city  subdued ;  Crete  brought  again  under  the 
ancient  dominion,  the  victorious  arms  laid  down,  the  war 
finished  almost  without  bloodshed,  and  glory  and  peace 
secured  at  one  blow.  When  all  these  things  were  made  known 
to  the  Doge  Lorenzo,  to  whose  greatness  his  surname  of 
Celso*  agrees  perfectly;  a  man  distinguished  for  magnan- 
imity, for  courtesy,  and  every  fine  virtue,  but  still  more  for 
piety  toward  God  and  love  for  his  country — well  perceiving 
that  nothing  is  good  but  that  which  begins  with  heaven,  he 
resolved  with  all  the  people  to  render  praise  and  homage  to 
God;  and  accordingly,  with  magnificent  rites  through  all  the 
city,  but  specially  in  the  basilica  of  San  Marco  Evangelista, 
than  which  I  know  nothing  in  the  world  more  beautiful,  were 
celebrated  the  most  solemn  thanksgivings  which  have  ever 
taken  place  within  the  memory  of  man ;  and  around  the  tem- 
ple and  in  the  Piazza  a  magnificent  procession,  in  which  not 
only  the  people  and  all  the  clergy,  but  many  prelates  from 
foreign  parts,  brought  here  by  curiosity,  or  the  great  occasion, 
or  the  proclamation  far  and  near  of  these  great  ceremonies, 
took  part.  When  these  demonstrations  of  religion  and  piety 
were  completed,  every  soul  turned  to  games  and  rejoicings. 

Our  poet  continues  at  length  the  record  of  these 
festivities,  especially  of  those  with  which  the  gfreat 
festival  terminated,  two  exercises  of  which  he  can- 
not, he  says,  give  the  Latin  name,  but  which  in 
Italian  are  called,  one  corsa^  a  race,  the  other  giostra^ 
a  tournament.     In  the  first  of  these,  which  would 

*E^ccelso^  excellent. 


360  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

seem  to  have  been  somethinglike  the  ancient  riding, 
at  the  ring,  no  strangers  were  allowed  to  compete, 
but  only  twenty-four  Venetian  youths  of  noble  race 
and  magnificently  clad,  under  the  direction  of  a 
famous  actor,  Bombasio  by  name  (from  whence,  we 
believe,  "Bombast"),  who  arranged  their  line  in  so 
delightful  a  manner  that  one  would  have  said  it  was 
not  men  who  rode  but  angels  who  flew,  "so  wonder- 
ful was  it  to  see  these  young  men,  arrayed  in  purple 
and  gold,  with  bridle  and  spurs,  restraining  at  once 
and  exciting  their  generous  steeds,  which  blazed 
also  in  the  sun  with,  the  rich  ornaments  with  which 
their  harness  was  covered."  This  noble  sight  the 
poet  witnessed  in  bland  content  and  satisfaction, 
seated  at  the  right  hand  of  the  doge,  upon  a  splen- 
did balcony  shaded  with  rich  and  many-tinted  awn- 
ings, which  had  been  erected  over  the  font  of  San 
Marco  behind  the  four  bronze  horses.  Fortunate 
poet!  thus  throned  on  high  to  the  admiration  of  all 
the  beholders,  who  crowded  every  window  and  roof 
and  portico,  and  wherever  human  footing  was  to  be 
found,  and  filled  every  corner  of  the  Piazza  so  that 
there  was  not  room  for  a  grain  of  millet — an  "in- 
credible, innumerable  crowd,"  among  which  was  no 
tumult  or  disorder  of  any  kind,  nothing  but  joy, 
courtesy,  harmony,  and  love!  It  is  curious  to  note 
that  among  the  audience  were  certain  "very  noble 
English  personages,  in  office  and  kindred  near  to 
the  King  of  England,"  who,  "taking  pleasure  in 
wandering  on  the  vast  sea,"  faithful  to  the  instincts 
of  their  race,  had  been  attracted  by  the  news  of 
these  great  rejoicings.  Among  all  the  splendors  of 
Venice  there  is  none  which  is  more  attractive  to  the 
imagination  than  this  grand  tourney  in  the  great 
Piazza,  at  which  the  mild  and  learned  poet  in  his 
black  hood  and  gown,  half  clerical  and  always 
courtly,  accustomed  to  the  best  of  company,  sat  by 
the  side  of  the  doge  in  his  gold-embroidered  mantle, 
with  all  that  was  fairest  in  Venice  around,  and 
gazed  well  pleased  upon  the  spectacle,  not  without 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  361 

a  soothing  sense  that  he  himself  in  the  ages  to 
come  would  seem  amid  all  the  purple  and  gold  the 
most  notable  presence  there. 

In  the  year  1366,  when  Petrarch  had  been  estab- 
lished for  about  four  years  in  Venice,  an  incident 
of  a  very  different  kind  occurred  to  disturb  his 
peace,  and  did,  according  to  all  the  commentaries, 
so  seriously  disturb  it,  and  offend  the  poet  so  deeply, 
that  when  he  next  left  the  city  it  was  to  return  no 
more.  Among  the  stream  of  visitors  received  by 
him  with  his  usual  bland  courtesy  in  the  place  of 
the  two  towers  were  certain  young  men  whom  the 
prevailing  fashion  of  the  time  had  banded  together 
in  a  pretense  of  learning  and  superior  enlighten- 
ment, not  uncommon  to  any  generation  of  those 
youthful  heroes  whose  only  wish  it  was  that  their 
fathers  were  more  wise.  Four  in  particular,  who 
were  specially  given  to  the  study  of  .such  Greek 
philosophy  as  came  to  them  broken  by  translators 
into  fragments  fit  for  their  capacity,  had  been  among 
the  visitors  of  the  poet.  Deeply  affronted  as 
Petrarch  was  by  the  occurrence  which  followed,  he 
was  yet  too  magnanimous  to  give  their  names  to  any 
of  his  correspondents;  but  he  de^ribes  them  so  as 
to  have  made  it  possible  for  commentators  to  hazard 
a  guess  as  to  who  they  were.  "They  are  all  rich, 
and  all  studious  by  profession,  devouring  books, 
notvv'ithstanding  that  the  first  knows  nothing  of 
letters;  the  second  little;  the  third  not  much;  the 
fourth,  it  is  true,  has  no  small  knowledge,  but  has 
it  confusedly  and  without  order."  The  first  was  a 
soldier,  the  second  a  merchant  {simplex  mercator),  the 
third  a  noble  {simplex  fiobilis),  the  fourth  a  physician. 
A  mere  noble,  a  mere  merchant — significant  words! 
a  soldier,  and  one  who  probably  led  them  with  his 
superior  science  and  information,  the  only  one  who 
had  the  least  claim  to  be  called  a  philosopher,  .the 
young  professional  to  whom  no  doubt  those  would- 
be  learned  giovinastri  looked  up  as  to  a  shining  light. 
They  were  disciples  of  Averroes — or  more  likely  it 


362  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

was  the  young  physician  who  was  so,  and  whose 
reinterpretation  charmed  the  young  men;  and  by 
consequence,  in  that  dawn  of  the  Renaissance,  they 
were  all  infidels,  believers  in  Aristotle  and  nothing 
else.  Petrarch  himself  narrates  with  much  naivete 
the  method  he  employed  with  one  of  these  irrev- 
erent and  disdainful  youths.  The  poet,  in  his  argu- 
ment with  the  young  unbeliever,  had  quoted  from 
the  New  Testament  a  saying  of  an  apostle. 

"Your  apostle."  he  replied,  "was  a  mere  sower  of  words, 
and  more  than  that,  was  mad."  J^Bravo!"  said  I.  "oh,  philos- 
opher. These  two  things  have  been  laid  to  the  charge  of  other 
philosophers  in  ancient  times ;  and  of  the  second,  Festus,  the 
Governor  of  Syria,  accused  him  whom  I  quote.  But  if  he  was 
a  sower  of  words  the  words  were  very  useful,  and  the  seed 
sown  by  him,  and  cultivated  by  his  successors  and  watered  by 
the  holy  blood  of  martyrs,  has  grown  into  the  great  mass  of 
believers  whom  we  now  see."  At  these  words  he  smiled, 
and  "Be  you,  if  you  like,  a  good  Christian,"  he  said;  "I  don't 
believe  a  word  of  all  that ;  and  your  Paul  and  Augustine  and 
all  the  rest  whom  you  vaunt  to  much,  I  hold  them  no  better 
than  a  pack  of  gossips.  Oh,  if  you  would  but  read  Averroes! 
then  you  would  see  how  much  superior  he  is  to  your  fable- 
mongers."  I  confess  that,  burning  with  indignation,  it  was 
with  difficulty  that  I  kept  my  hands  off  that  blasphemer. 
"This  contest  with  heretics  like  you,"  I  said,  "is  an  old  affair 
for  me.  Go  to  the  devil,  you  and  your  heresy,  and  come  no 
more  here."  And  taking  him  by  the  mantle  with  less  cour- 
tesy than  is  usual  to  me,  but  not  less  than  his  manners  de- 
served, I  put  him  to  the  door. 

This  summary  method  of  dealing  with  the  young 
skeptic  is  not  without  its  uses,  and  many  a  serious 
man,  wearied  with  the  folly  of  youthful  preachers 
of  the  philosophy  fashionable  in  our  day,  which  is 
not  of  Aristotle  or  Averroes,  might  be  pardoned  for 
a  longing  to  follow  Petrarch's  example.  Perhaps 
it  was  the  young  man  described  as  simplex  nobihs, 
who,  indignant,  being  thus  turned  out,  hurried  to 
his  comrades  with  the  tale;  upon  which  they  imme- 
diately founded  themselves  into  a  bed  of  justice, 
weighed  Petrarch  in  the  balance,  and  found  him 
wanting.  "A  good  man,  but  ignorant,"  was  their 
sentence    after    full    discussion — dabbefi  uomo^  ma 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  363 

tlgnorante.  The  mild  yet  persistent  rage  with  which 
the  poet  heard  of  this  verdict — magnanimous,  re- 
straining himself  from  holding  up  the  giovi7iastri  to 
the  contempt  of  the  world,  yet  deeply  and  bitterly 
wounded  by  their  boyish  folly — is  very  curious. 
The  effect  produced  upon  Lord  Tennyson  and  Mr. 
Browning  at  the  present  day  by  the  decision  of  a 
tribunal  made  up  of,  let  us  say,  a  young  guards- 
man, a  little  lord,  a  millionaire's  heir,  led  by  some 
young  professional  writer  or  scientific  authority, 
would  be  very  different.  The  poets  and  the  world 
would  laugh  to  all  the  echoes,  and  the  giovinastn 
would  achieve  a  reputation  such  as  they  would 
little  desire.  But  the  use  of  laughter  had  not  been 
discovered  in  Petrarch's  days,  and  a  poet  crowned 
in  the  Capitol,  laureate  of  the  universe,  conscious  of 
being  the  first  man  of  letters  in  the  world,  naturally 
did  not  treat  these  matters  so  lightly.  He  talks  of 
them  in  his  letters  with  an  offended  dignity,  which 
verges  upon  the  comic.  "Four  youths,  blind  in  the 
eyes  of  the  mind,  men  who  consider  themselves 
able  to  judge  of  ignorance  as  being  themselves  most 
ignorant — si  tengono  competejiti  a  giudicare  della  tgnor- 
anza  perche  son  essi  tgnorantissimi — attempting  to 
rob  me  of  my  fame,  since  they  well  know  that 
they  can  never  hope  for  fame  in  their  own  per- 
sons," he  says;  and  at  last,  in  the  bitterness  of  his 
offense,  Venice  herself,  the  hospitable  and  friendly 
city,  of  which  he  had  lately  spoken  as  the  peaceful 
haven  and  refuge  of  the  human  spirit,  falls  under 
the  same  reproach.  In  every  part  of  the  world,  he 
says,  such  a  sentence  would  be  received  with  con- 
demnation and  scorn;  "except  perhaps  in  the  city 
where  it  was  given  forth,  a  city  truly  great  and 
noble,  but  inhabited  by  so  great  and  so  varied  a 
crowd  that  many  therein  take  men  without  knowl- 
edge for  judges  and  philosophers."  And  when  the 
heats  of  summer  came,  sending  him  forth  on  the 
round,  of  visits  which  seems  to  have  been  as  neces- 
sary to  Petrarch  as  if  he  had  lived  in  the  nineteenth 


364  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

century,  the  offended  poet  did  not  return  to  Venice. 
When  his  visits  were  over  he  withdrew  to  Arqua, 
on  the  soft  skirts  of  the  Euganean  hills,  where  all 
was  rural  peace  and  quiet,  and  no  presumptuous 
giovmastn  could  trouble  him  more. 

This  incident,  however,  would  seem  to  point  to 
an  element  of  tumult  and  trouble  in  Venice,  to 
which  republics  seem  more  dangerously  exposed 
than  other  states.  It  was  the  insults  of  the 
giovmastn^  insolent  and  unmannerly  youths,  which 
drove  Marino  Faliero  to  his  doom  not  very  many 
years  before.  And  Petrarch  himself  implores 
Andrea  Dandolo,  the  predecessor  of  that  unfortu- 
nate doge,  to  take  counsel  with  the  old  men  of 
experience,  not  with  hot-headed  boys,  in  respect  to 
the  Genoese  wars.  The  youths  would  seem  to  have 
been  in  the  ascendant,  idle — for  it  was  about  this 
period  that  wise  men  began  to  lament  the  abandon- 
ment at  once  of  traditional  trade  and  of  the  accom- 
panying warlike  spirit  among  the  young  patricians, 
who  went  to  sea  no  more,  and  left  fighting  to  the 
mercenaries — and  luxurious;  spending  their  time  in 
intrigues  on  the  Broglio  and  elsewhere,  and  taking 
upon  them  those  arrogant  airs  which  make  aristoc- 
racy detestable.  A  Dandolo  and  a  Contarini  are  in 
the  list  (supposed  to  be  authentic)  of  Petrarch's 
assailants,  and  no  doubt  the  supports  of  fathers  in 
the  Forty  or  the  Ten  would  embolden  these  idle 
youths  tor  every  folly.  Their  foolish  verdict  would 
by  this  means  cut  deeper,  and  Petrarch,  like  the 
old  doge,  was  now  sonless,  and  had  the  less  patience 
to  support  the  insolence  of  other  people's  boys.  He 
retired  accordingly  from  the  ignoble  strife,  and  on 
his  travels,  as  he  says,  having  nothing  else  to  do, 
on  the  banks  of  the  Po,  began  his  treatise  on  *'the 
ignorance  of  himself  and  many  others"---^^  sui 
ipstus  et  moltorum  ignorantia,  which  was,  let  us  hope, 
a  final  balsam  to  the  sting  which  the  giovmastn,, 
unmannerly  and  presumptuous  lads,  had  left  in  his 
sensitive  mind. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  365 

The  books  which  he  had  offered  to  the  republic  as 
the  foundation  of  a  public  library  were  left  behind, 
first  in  the  hands  of  a  friend,  afterward  in  the 
charge  of  the  state.  But  Venice  at  that  time  had 
other  things  to  do  than  to  think  ot  books,  and  these 
precious  manuscripts  were  placed  in  a  small  cham- 
ber on  the  terrace  of  San  Marco,  near  the  four  great 
horses  of  the  portico — and  these  forgotten.  Half  a 
century  later  the  idea  of  the  public  library  revived; 
and  this  was  confirmed  by  the  legacy  made  by  Car- 
dinal Besaroine  of  all  his  manuscripts  in  1468 — 
a  hundred  years  after  the  gift  of  Petrarch;  but 
nearly  two  centuries  more  had  passed,  and  the 
splendid  Biblioteca  de  San  Marco  had  come  into 
being,  a  noble  building  and  a  fine  collection,  before 
it  occurred  to  some  stray  citizens  and  scholars  to  in- 
quire where  the  poet's  gift  might  be.  Finally,  in 
1634,  the  little  room  was  opened,  and  there  were 
discovered — a  mass  of  damp  decay,  as  they  had 
been  thrown  in  nearly  three  centuries  before — the 
precious  parchments,  the  books  which  Petrarch  had 
collected  so  carefully,  and  which  he  thought  worthy 
to  be  the  nucleus  of  a  great  public  library.  Some 
few  were  extracted  from  the  mass  of  corruption, 
and  at  last  were  placed  where  the  poet  had  intended 
them  to  be.  But  this  neglect  will  always  remain  a 
shame  to  Venice.  Perhaps  at  first  the  giovinastri 
had  something  to  do  with  it;  throwing  into  con- 
tempt as  of  little  importance  the  gift  of  the  poet — a 
suggestion  which  has  been  made  with  more  gravity 
by  a  recent  librarian,  who  points  out  that  the  most 
valuable  of  Petrarch's  books  remained  in  his  posses- 
sion until  his  death,  and  vvrere  sold  and  dispersed  at 
Padua  after  that  event.  So  that  it  is  possible, 
though  the  suggestion  is  somewhat  ungenerous, 
that,  after  all,  the  loss  to  humanity  was  not  so  very 
great.  At  all  events,  there  is  this  to  be  said,  that 
Petrarch  did  not  lose  by  his  bargain,  though  Venice 
did.  The  poet  got  the  dignified  establishment  he 
wanted — a  vast  palace,  as  he  himself  describes  it,  in 


366  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

which  he  had  room  to  receive  his  friends  and  from 
which  he  could  witness  all  the  varied  life  of  Venice. 
He  had  not,  we  think,  any  great  reason  to  complain 
— he  had  received  his  equivalent.  His  hosts  were 
the  losers  by  their  own  neglect,  but  not  the  poet. 

It  was  but  a  short  episode  in  his  learned  and  leis- 
urely and  highly  successful  life;  but  it  is  the  only 
poetical  association  we  have  with  Venice.  He 
shows  us  something  of  the  cultured  society  of  the 
time,  with  its  advantages  and  its  drawbacks,  a  soci- 
ety more  ''precious"  than  original,  full  of  commen- 
taries and  criticisms,  loving  conversation  and 
mutual  comparison  and  classical  allusion,  not  so  gay 
as  the  painters  of  an  after  age,  with  less  inclination 
to  suonar  iMiuto,  or,  indeed,  introduce  anything 
which  could  interfere  with  that  talk  which  was  the 
most  beloved  of  all  entertainments.  Boccaccio,  one 
cannot  but  feel,  must  have  brought  something  live- 
lier and  more  gay  with  him  when  he  was  one  of 
those  who  sat  at  the  high  windows  of  the  Palazzo 
delle  dueTorri  and  looked  out  upon  all  the  traffic  of 
the  port,  and  the  ships  going  out  to  sea.  But  the 
antechambers  of  the  poet  were  always  crowded  as  if 
he  had  been  a  prince,  thedoge  ever  ready  to  do  him 
honor,  and  all  the  great  persons  deeply  respectful  of 
Dom  Francesco,  though  the  young  ones  might  scoff, 
not  without  a  smile  aside  from  their  fathers,  at  the 
bland  laureate's  conviction  of  his  own  greatness. 

No  other  poet  has  ever  illustrated  Venice.  Dante 
passed  through  the  great  city  and  did  not  love  her, 
if  his  supposed  letter  on  the  subject  is  real — at  all 
events,  brought  no  image  out  of  her  except  that  of 
the  pitch  boiling  in  the  Arsenal,  and  the  seamen 
repairing  their  storm-beaten  ships.  Nameless  poets, 
no  doubt,  there  were,  whose  songs  the  mariners 
bellowed  along  the  Riva,  and  the  maidens  sang  at 
their  work.  The  following  anonymous  relic  is  so 
pure  and  tender  thatj  though  far  below  the  level  of 
a  laureated  poet,  it  may  serve  to  throw  a  little 
fragrance  upon   the  name  of^poetry  in  Venice,  so 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  867 

little  practiced  and  so  imperfectly  known.  It  is  the 
lament  of  a  wife  for  her  husband  gone  to  the  wars 
— alia  Crociata  m  Oriente — a  humble  Crusader-sea- 
man, do  doubt;  one  of  those,  perhaps,  who  followed 
old  Enrico  Dandolo,  with  the  cross  on  his  rough  cap, 
ignorant  of  all  the  wiles  of  statesmanship,  while  his 
wife  waited  wistfully  through  many  months  and 
years. 

*  Donna  Frisa,  in  your  way, 
You  give  me  good  advice,  to  lay 
By  this  grieving  out  of  measure. 
Saying  to  see  me  is  no  pleasure, 
Since  my  husband,  gone  to  war, 
Carried  my  heart  with  him  afar; 
But  since  he's  gone  beyond  the  sea 
This  alone  must  comfort  me. 
1  have  no  fear  of  growing  old, 
For  hope  sustains  and  makes  me  bold 
While  I  think  upon  my  lord ; 
In  him  is  all  my  comfort  stored, 
No  other  bearing  takes  my  eye, 
In  him  does  all  my  pleasure  lie; 
Nor  can  I  think  him  far,  while  he 
Ever  in  love  is  near  to  me. 
Lone  in  my  room,  my  eyes  are  dim, 
Only  from  fear  of  harm  "to  him. 
Nought  else  I  fear,  and  hope  is  strong 
He  will  come  back  to  me  anon ; 
And  all  my  plaints  to  gladness  rise. 
And  into  songs  are  turned  my  sighs. 
Thinking  of  that  good  man  of  mine; 
No  more  I  wish  to  make  me  fine, 
Or  look  into  the  glass,  or  be 
Fair,  since  he  is  not  here  to  see. 
In  my  chamber  alone  I  sit, 
T\iQfesta  may  pass,  1  care  not  for  it. 
Nor  to  gossip  upon  the  stairs  outside. 
Nor  from  the  window  to  look,  nor  glide 
Out  on  the  balcony,  save  't  may  be 
To  gaze  afar,  across  the  sea, 
Praying  that  God  would  guard  my  lord 
In  Paganesse,  sending  His  word 
To  give  the  Christians  the  victory. 
And  home  in  health  and  prosperity 
To  bring  him  back  and  with  him  all 
In  joy  and  peace  perpetual. 


368  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

"When  I  make  this  prayer  I  know 
All  my  heart  goes  with  it  so 
That  something  woi  thy  is  in  me 
My  lord's  return  full  soon  to  see. 
All  other  comforts  I  resign. 
Your  way  is  good,  but  better  mine, 
And  firm  I  hold  this  faith  alone; 
The  women  hear  me,  but  never  one 
Contradicts  my  certitude, 
For  I  hold  it  seemly  and  good, 
And  that  to  be  true  and  faithful 
To  a  good  woman  is  natural ; 
Considering  her  husband  still. 
All  his  wishes  to  fulfill 
And  with  him  to  be  always  glad. 
And  in  his  presence  never  sad. 

"Thus  should  there  be  between  the  two 
No  thought  but  how  pleasure  to  do. 
She  to  him  and  he  to  her. 
This  their  rivalry;  nor  e'er 
Listen  to  any  ill  apart. 
But  of  one  mind  be,  and  one  heart. 
He  ever  willing  what  she  wills, 
She  what  his  pleasure  most  fulfills. 
With  never  quarrel  or  despite, 
But  peace  between  them  morning  and  night. 
This  makes  a  goodly  jealousy 
To  excel  in  love  and  constancy. 
And  thus  is  the  pilgrim  served  aright, 
From  eve  to  morn,  from  day  to  night." 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE    HISTORIANS. 

The  first  development  of  native  literature  in  Ven- 
ice, and  indeed  the  only  one  which  attained  any 
greatness  was  history.  Before  ever  poet  had  sung 
or  preacher  discoursed,  in  the  early  days  when  the 
republic  was  struggling  into  existence,  there  had 
already  risen  in  the  newly  founded  community  and 
among  the  houses  scarcely  yet  to  be  counted  noble, 
but  which  had  begun  to  sway  the  minds  of  the 
fishers  and  traders  and  salt  manufacturers  of  the 
marshes,  annalists  whose  desire  it  was  to  chronicle 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  369 

the  doings  of  that  infant  state,  struggling  into  ex- 
istence amid  the  fogs,  of  which  they  were  al ready- 
so  proud.  Of  these  nameless  historians  the  greater 
number  have  dropped  into  complete  oblivion ;  but 
they  have  furnished  materials  to  many  successors, 
and  in  some  cases  their  works  still  exist  in  codexes 
known  to  the  learned,  affording  still  their  quota  of 
information,  sometimes  mingled  with  fable,  yet  re- 
taining here  and  there  a  vigorous  force  of  life  which 
late  writers,  more  correct,  find  it  hard  to  put  into 
the  most  polished  records.  To  all  of  these  Venice 
was  already  the  object  of  all  desire,  the  center  of 
all  ambition.  Her  beauty — the  splendor  of  her 
rising  palaces,  the  glory  of  her  churches — is  their 
subject  from  the  beginning;  though  still  the  foun- 
dations were  not  laid  of  that  splendor  and  glory 
which  has  proved  the  enchantment  of  later  ages. 
This  city  was  the  joy  of  the  wnole  earth,  a  wonder 
and  witchery  to  Sagornino  in  the  eleventh  century 
as  much  as  to  Molmenti  in  the  nineteenth;  and  be- 
fore the  dawn  of  serious  history,  as  well  as  with  all 
the  aid  of  state  documents  and  critical  principles  in 
her  maturity,  the  story  of  Venice  has  been  the  great 
attraction  to  her  children,  the  one  theme  of  which 
no  Venetians  can  ever  tire.  It  would  be  out  of  our 
scope  to  give  any  list  of  these  early  writers.  Their 
name  is  legion — and  any  reader  who  can  venture  to 
launch  himself  upon  the  learned,  but  chaotic,  work 
of  the  most  serene  Doge  Marco  Foscarini  upon 
Venetian  literature,  will  find  himself  hustled  on 
every  page  by  a  pale  crowd  of  half-perceptible  fig- 
ures in  every  department  of  historical  research. 
The  laws,  the  church,  the  trade  of  Venice,  her 
money,  her  ceremonials  and  usages,  the  speeches  of 
her  orators,  her  treaties  with  foreign  powers,  her 
industries;  in  all  of  these  by-ways  of  the  history  are 
crowds  of  busy  workers,  each  contributing  his  part 
to  that  one  central  object  of  all— the  glory  and  the 
hisvory  of  the  city,  which  was  to  every  man  the 
chief  object  in  the  world. 

24  Venice 


370  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

It  was,  however,  only  in  the  time  of  Andrea  Dan- 
dolo,  the  first  man  of  letters  who  occupied  the  doge's 
chair,  the  friend  of  Petrarch  and  of  all  the  learned 
of  his  time,  that  the  artless  chronicles  of  the  early- 
ages  were  consolidated  into  history.  Of  Andrea 
himself  we  have  but  little  to  tell.  His  own  appear- 
ance is  dim  in  the  far  distance,  only  coming  fairly 
within  our  vision  in  those  letters  of  Petrarch  already 
quoted,  in  which  the  learned  and  cultivated  scholar 
prince  proves  himself,  in  spite  of  every  exhortation 
and  appeal,  a  Venetian  before  all,  putting  aside  the 
humanities  in  which  he  was  so  successful  a  student, 
and  the  larger  sympathies  which  letters  and  philo- 
sophy ought  to  bring — with  a  sudden  frown  over  the 
countenance  which  regarded  with  friendly  apprecia- 
tion all  the  other  communications  of  the  poet  until 
he  permitted  himself  to  speak  of  peace  with  Genoa 
and  to  plead  that  an  end  might  be  put  to  those 
bloody  and  fratricidal  wars  which  devastated  Italy. 
Dandolo,  with  all  his  enlightenment,  was  not  suffi- 
ciently enlightened  to  see  this,  or  to  be  able  to  free 
himself  from  the  prejudices  and  native  hostilities  of 
his  State.  He  thought  the  war  with  Genoa  just 
and  necessary,  while  Petrarch  wrung  his  hands  over 
the  woes  of  a  country  torn  in  pieces;  and  instead  of 
responding  to  the  ideal  picture  of  a  common  pros- 
perity such  as  the  two  great  maritime  rivals  might" 
enjoy  together,  flamed  forth  in  wrath  at  the  thought 
even  of  a  triumph  which  should  be  shared  with  that 
most  intimate  enemy.  The  greater  part  of  his  reign 
was  spent  in  the  exertions  necessary  to  keep  up  one 
of  these  disastrous  wars,  and  he  died  in  the  midst 
of  defeat,  with  nothing  but  ill  news  of  his  armatas, 
and  Genoese  galleys  in  the  Adriatic,  pushing  for- 
ward, perhaps, — who  could  tell, — to  Venice  herself. 
'*The  reptiblic,  within  and  without,  was  threatened 
with  great  dangers,"  says  Sabellico,  at  the  moment 
of  his  death,  and  he  was  succeeded  by  the  ill-fated 
Faliero,  to  show  how  distracted  was  the  state  at  this 
dark  period.     Troubles  of    all    kinds    had    distin- 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  371 

guished  the  reign  of  the  learned  Andrea.  Earth- 
quakes, for  which  the  philosophers  sought  strange 
explanations,  such  as  that  they  were  caused  by  "a 
spirit,  bound  and  imprisoned  underground,"  which, 
with  loud  noises,  and  often  with  fire  and  flame,  es- 
caped by  the  openings  and  caverns;  and  pestilence, 
which  Sabellico  believes  to  have  been  caused  by  cer- 
tain fish  driven  up  along  the  coast.  Notwithstanding 
all  these  troubles,  Dandolo  found  time  and  leisure 
to  add  a  sixth  volume  to  the  collections  of  laws 
already  made,  and  to  compile  his  history — a  digni- 
fied and  scrupulous,  if  somewhat  brief  and  formal, 
narrative  of  the  lives  and  acts  of  his  predecessors  in 
the  ducal  chair.  The  former  writers  had  left  each 
his  fragment;  Sagornino,  for  instance,  dwelling 
chiefly  upon  Venice  under  the  reign  of  the  Orseoli, 
to  the  extent  of  his  personal  experiences.  Dandolo 
was  the  first  to  weave  these  broken  strands  into  one 
continuous  thread.  He  had  not  only  the  early 
chronicles  within  his  reach,  but  the  papers  of  the 
state  and  those  of  his  own  family,  which  had  already 
furnished  three  doges  to  the  republic,  and  thus  was 
in  every  way  qualified  for  his  work.  It  is  remark- 
able to  note  through  all  the  conflicts  of  the  time, 
through  the  treacherous  stillness  before  the  earth- 
quake and  the  horrified  clamor  after;  through  the 
fierce  exultation  of  victory  and  the  dismal  gloom  of 
defeat,  and  amid  all  those  troubled  ways  where 
pestilence  and  misery  had  set  up  their  abode,  this 
philosopher, — doctor  of  laws,  the  first  who  ever  sat 
upon  that  throne, — the  scholar  and  patron  of  letters, 
distracted  with  all  the  cares  of  his  uneasy  sway,  yet 
going  on  day  by  day  with  his  literary  labors,  lay- 
ing the  foundation  firm  for  his  countrymen,  upon 
which  so  many  have  built.  How  Petrarch's  impor- 
tunities about  these  dogs  of  Genoese,  perpetual  ene- 
mies of  the  republic,  as  if,  forsooth,  they  were 
brothers  an<i  Christian  men!  must  have  fretted  him 
in  the  midst  of  his  studies.  What  did  a  poet  priest, 
a  classical  half- Frenchman  of  peace,  know  about 


372  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

such  matters?  The  same  language!  "Who  dared 
to  compare  the  harsh  dialect  these  wretches  jab- 
bered among  themselves  with  the  liquid  Venetian 
speech?  The  same  country!  As  far  different  as 
east  from  west.  They  were  no  brethren,  but  born 
enemies  of  Venice,  never  to  be  reconciled;  and  in 
this  faith  the  enlightened  doge,  the  philosopher  and 
sage,  reigned  and  died. 

After  Dandolo  there  seems  to  have  been  silence 
for  about  half  a  century,  though  no  period  was 
without  its  essays  in  history;  a  noble  patrician  here 
and  there,  a  monk  in  his  leisure,  an  old  soldier  after 
his  wars  were  over,  making  each  his  personal  con- 
tribution, to  lie  for  the  greater  part  unnoted  in  the 
archives  of  his  family  or  order.  But  about  the  end 
of  the  fourteenth  century  there  rose  a  faint  agita- 
tion among  the  more  learned  Venetians  as  to  the 
expediency  of  compiling  a  general  history  upon  the 
most  authentic  manuscripts  and  records,  which 
should  be  given  forth  to  the  world  with  authority  as 
the  true  and  trustworthy  history  of  Venice.  There 
was,  perhaps,  no  one  sufficiently  in  earnest  to  press 
the  matter,  nor  had  they  any  writer  ready  to  take 
up  the  work.  But.  no  doubt,  it  was  an  excellent 
subject  on  which  to  debate  when  they  met  each 
other  in  the  public  places  whither  patricians  re- 
sorted, and  where  the  wits  had  their  encounters. 
Oh,  for  a  historian  to  write  that  great  book!  The 
noble  philosophers  themselves  were  too  busy  with 
their  legislations,  or  their  pageants,  or  their  classical 
studies,  to  undertake  it  themselves,  and'it  was  diffi- 
cult to  find  anyone  sufficiently  well  qualified  to  fill 
the  ofifice  which  it  was  their  intention  should  be 
that  of  a  public  servant  encouraged  and  paid  by  the 
state.  During  the  next  half  century  there  were  a 
great  many  negotiations  begun,  but  never  brought 
to  any  definite  conclusion,  with  sundry  professors 
of  literature,  especially  one  Biondo,  whciiiad  already 
written  much  on  the  subject.  But  none  of  them 
came  to  any   practical   issue.       The    century    had 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  373 

reached  its  last  quarter,  when  the  matter  was  sum- 
marily, and  by  a  personal  impulse,  taken  out  of  the 
noble  dilettanti's  hands.  Marco  Antonio  Sabellico, 
a  native  of  Vicovaro,  among  the  Sabine  hills,  and 
one  of  the  most  learned  men  and  best  Latinists  of 
his  day,  had  been  drawn  to  Venice  probably  by  the 
same  motives  which  drew  Petrarch  thither:  the 
freedom  ot  its  society,  the  hospitality  with  which 
strangers  were  received,  and  the  eager  welcome 
given  by  a  race  ambitious  of  every  distinction,  but 
not  great  in  the  sphere  of  letters,  to  all  who  brought 
with  them  something  of  that  envied  fame.  How  it 
was  that  he  was  seized  by  the  desire  to  write  a  his- 
tory of  Venice,  which  was  not  his  own  country,  we 
are  not  told.  But  it  is  very  likely  that  he  was  one 
of  those  men  of  whom  there  are  examples  in  every 
generation,  for  whom  Venice  has  an  especial  charm, 
and  who,  like  the  occasional  love-thrall  of  a  famous 
beauty,  give  up  their  lives  to  her  praise  and  ser- 
vice, hoping  for  nothing  in  return.  He  might,  on 
the  other  hand,  be  nothing  more  than  an  enterpris- 
ing author,  aware  that  the  patrons  of  literature  in 
Venice  were  moving  heaven  and  earth  to  have  a  his 
tory,  and  taking  advantage  of  their  desire  with  i 
rapidity  and  unexpectedness  which  would  forestall 
every  other  attempt.  He  was  at  the  time  in  Ver- 
ona, in  the  suite  of  the  captain  of  that  city,  Bene- 
detto Trivigiano,  out  of  reach  of  public  documents, 
and  naturally  of  many  sources  of  information  which 
would  have  been  thrown  open  to  an  authorized  his- 
torian. He  himself  speaks  of  the  work  of  Andrea 
Dandolo  as  of  a  book  which  he  had  heard  of  but 
never  seen,  though  it  seems  incredible  that  any  man 
should  take  in  hand  a  history  of  Venice  without 
making  himself  acquainted  with  the  only  authorita- 
tive work  existing  on  the  subject.  Neither  had  he 
seen  the  book  of  Jacopo  Zeno  upon  the  work  and 
exploits  of  his  grandfather  Carlo,  which  is  the  chief 
authority  in  respect  to  so  important  an  episode  as 
the  war  of  Chioggia.     And  he  wrote  so  rapidly  that 


874  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

the  work  was  completed  in  fifteen  months,  "by 
reason  of  his  impatience,"  says  Marco  Foscarini. 
Notwithstanding  these  many  drawbacks,  Sabellico's 
history  remains  among  the  most  influential,  as  it  is 
the  most  eloquent,  of  Venetian  histories.  It  is  sel- 
dom that  a  historian  escapes  without  conviction  of 
error  in  one  part  or  another  of  his  work,  and  Sabel- 
lico  was  no  exception  to  the  rule.  The  learned  of 
the  time  threw  themselves  upon  him  with  all  the 
heat  of  critics  who  have  never  committed  themselves 
by  serious  production  in  their  own  persons.  They 
accused  him  of  founding  his  book  upon  the  narra- 
tives of  the  inferior  annalists,  and  neglecting  the 
good — of  transcribing  from  contemporaries,  and 
above  all  of  haste,  an  accusation  which  it  is  impos- 
sible to  deny.  "But,"  says  Foscarini,  "the  thirst 
for  a  general  history  was  such  that  either  these 
faults  were  not  discovered,  or  else  by  reason  of  the 
unusual  accompaniment  of  eloquence,  to  which  as 
to  a  new  thing  the  attention  of  all  was  directed, 
they  passed  unobserved."  The  eager  multitude 
took  up  the  book  with  enthusiasm,  although  the 
critics  objected;  and  though  Sabellico  was  in  no 
manner  a  servant  of  the  state,  and  had  never  had 
the  office  of  historian  confided  to  him,  "the  Senate, 
perceiving  the  general  approval,  and  having  rather 
regard  to  its  own  greatness  than  to  the  real  value  of 
the  work,  settled  upon  the  writer  two  hundred  gold 
ducats  yearly,  merely  on  the  score  of  gracious  re- 
compense."  This  altogether  disposes,  as  Foscarini 
points  out,  of  the  spiteful  imputation  of  "a  venal 
pen,"  which  one  of  his  contemporaries  attributed  to 
Sabellico;  but  at  the  same  time  he  is  careful  to 
guard  his  readers  from  the  error  of  supposing  that 
the  historian  had  the  privileges  and  position  of  a 
functionary  chosen  by  the  state. 

The  learned  doge  is  indeed  very  anxious  that 
there  should  be  no  mistake  on  this  point,  nor  any 
undue  praise  appropriated  to  the  first  historian  of 
Venice.     All  foreign  historians,  he  says,  take  him 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  375 

as  the  chief  authority  on  Venice,  and  quote  him 
continually;  not  only  so,  but  the  writers  who  imme- 
diately succeeded  him  did  little  more  than  repeat 
what  he  had  said,  and  the  most  learned  among  them 
had  no  thought  of  any  purgation  of  his  narrative, 
but  only  to  add  various  particulars,  in  the  main  fol- 
lowing Sabellico,  for  which  reason  they  are  to  be 
excused  who  believe  that  they  find  in  him  the  very 
flower  of  ancient  Venetian  history ;  but  yet  he  can- 
not be  justly  so  considered.  Foscarini  cites  various 
errors  in  the  complicated  history  of  the  Crusades, 
respecting  which  it  is  allowed,  however,  that  the 
ancient  Venetian  records  contain  very  little  infor- 
mation; and  such  mistakes  as  that  on  a  certain  occa- 
sion Sabellico  relates  an  expedition  as  made  with 
the  whole  of  the  armata,  while  Dandolo  fixes  the 
number  at  thirty  galleys — not  a  very  important 
error.  When  all  has  been  said,  however,  there  is 
little  doubt  that  as  a  general  history,  full  in  all  the 
more  interesting  details,  and  giving  a  most  lifelike 
and  graphic  picture  of  the  course  of  Venetian 
affairs,  with  all  the  embassies,  royal  visits,  rebel- 
lions, orations,  sorrows,  and  festivities  that  took 
place  within  the  city,  together  with  those  events 
more  difficult  to  master  that  were  going  on  outside, 
the  history  of  Sabellico  is  the  one  most  attractive 
and  interesting  to  the  reader,  and  on  all  general 
events  quite  trustworthy.  The  original  is  in  Latin, 
but  it  was  put  into  the  vulgar  tongue  within  a  few 
years  after  its  publication,  and  was  afterward  more 
worthily  translated  by  Dolce  in  a  version  which 
contains  much  of  the  force  and  eloquence  of  the 
original. 

After  this  another  long  interval  elapsed  in  which 
many  patrician  writers,  one  after  another,  whose 
names  and  works  are  all  recorded  by  Foscarini, 
made  essays  less  or  more  important,  without,  how- 
ever, gaining  the  honorable  position  of  historian  of 
the  republic;  until  at  last  the  project  for  establish- 
ing such  an  office  was  taken  up  in  the  beginning  of 


376  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

the  sixteenth  century  for  the  benefit  of  a  young 
scholar,  noble  but  poor,  Andrea  Navagero.  He  was 
the  most  elegant  Latin  writer  in  Italy,  Foscarini 
says;  indeed,  the  great  Council  ot  Ten  themselves 
have  put  their  noble  hands  to  it  that  this  was  the 
case.  ''His  style  was  such  as,  by  agreement  of  all 
the  learned,  had  not  its  equal  in  Italy  or  out  of  it," 
is  the  language  of  the  decree  by  which  his  appoint- 
ment w^as  made.  Being  without  means  he  was 
about  to  leave  Venice  to  push  his  fortune  elsewhere 
by  his  talents,  "depriving  the  country  of  so  great 
an  ornament" — a  conclusion  *'not  to  be  tolerated." 
To  prevent  such  an  imputation  vipon  the  state,  the 
council  felt  themselves  bound  to  interfere,  and 
appointed  Navagero  their  historian,  to  begin  over 
again  that  authentic  and  authorized  history  which 
Sabellico  had  executed  without  authority.  The 
chances  probably  are  that  the  young  and  accom- 
plished scholar  had  friends  enough  at  court  to  make 
a  strong  effort  for  him,  to  liberate  him  from  the 
alarming  possibility,  so  doubly  sad  for  a  Venetian, 
of  being  "confined  within  the  boundaries  ot  private 
life" — and  that  the  authorities  of  the  state  bethought 
themselves  suddenly  of  a  feasible  way  of  providing 
for  him  by  giving  him  this  long  thought  ot  but 
never  occupied  post.  They  were  no  great  judges  of 
literature,  more  especially  of  Latin — their  own 
being  of  the  most  atrocious  description;  but  they 
were  susceptible  to  the  possible  shame  of  allowing 
a  scholar  who  might  be  a  credit  to  the  republic  to 
leave  Venice  in  search  of  a  living. 

Young  Navagero  thus  entered  the  first  upon  the 
post  of  historian  of  Venice,  which  he  held  for  many 
years  without  producing  anything  to  justify  the 
council  in  their  choice.  It  was  probably  intended 
only  as  a  means  of  providing  for  him  pending  his 
introduction  into  public  life;  for  we  find  a  number 
of  years  after  a  letter  from  Bembo,  congratulating 
him  on  his  appointment  as  ambassador  to  Spain, 
"the  first   thing  which  you  have  ever  asked  from 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  377 

the  country,**  and  prophesying  great  things  to  fol- 
low. He  was  appointed  historian  in  15 15,  but  it  is 
not  till  fifteen  years  after  that  we  hear  anything  of 
his  history,  and  that  in  the  most  tragical  way.  In 
1530  he  was  sent  on  an  embassy  to  France,  and  car- 
ried there  with  him  certain  manuscripts,  the  fruit 
of  the  intervening  years — ten  books,  it  is  said,  of 
the  proposed  story  of  Venice.  But  he  had  not  been 
long  in  Paris  when  he  fell  ill  and  died.  And  shortly 
before  his  death  —on  the  very  day,  one  writer 
informs  us — he  threw  his  papers  into  the  fire  with 
his  own  hands,  and  destroyed  the  whole.  Whether 
this  arose  from  dissatisfaction  with  his  work,  or 
whether  it  was  done  in  the  delirium  of  mor- 
tal sickness,  no  one  could  tell.  Foscarini  quotes 
from  an  unpublished  letter  of  Cardinal  Valiero  some 
remarks  upon  this  unfortunate  writer,  in  which  he 
is  described  as  one  who  was  never  satisfied  with 
moderate  approval  from  others,  and  still  less  capable 
of  pleasing  himself.  This  brief  and  tragic  episode 
suggests  even  more  than  it  tells.  Noble,  ambitious, 
and  poor,  probably  of  an  uneasy  and  fastidious 
mind — for  he  is  said  on  a  previous  occasion  to  have 
burned  a  number  of  his  early  productions  in  disgust 
and  discouragement — the  despondency  of  sickness 
must  have  overwhelmed  a  sensitive  nature.  The 
office  to  which  he  had  been  promoted  was  still  in  the 
visionary  stage;  the  greatest  things  were  expected 
of  the  new  historian  of  the  republic,  a  work  super- 
seding all  previous  attempts.  Sabellico,  who  had 
gone  over  the  same  ground  in  choicest  Latin,  was 
still  fresh  in  men's  minds;  and,  still  more  alarm- 
ing, another  Venetian,  older  and  of  greater  weight 
than  himself,  Marino  Sanudo,  one  of  the  most  aston- 
ishing and  gifted  of  historical  moles,  was  going  on 
day  by  day  with  those  elaborate  records  which  are 
the  wonder  of  posterity,  building  up  the  endless 
story  of  the  republic  with  details  innumerable — a 
mine  of  material  for  other  workers,  if  too  abundant 
and  minute  for  actual  history.     Ser  Andrea  was  no 


378  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

doubt  well  aware  ot  the  keen  inspection,  the  crit- 
icism sharpened  by  a  sense  that  this  young  fellow 
had  been  put  over  the  heads  of  older  men,  which 
would  await  his  work ;  and  his  own  taste  had  all  the 
fastidious  refinement  of  a  scholar,  more  critical  than 
confident.  When  he  found  himself  in  a  strange 
country,  though  not  as  an  exile  but  with  the  high 
commission  of  the  republic;  sick,  little  hopeful  of 
ever  seeing  the  beloved  city  again;  his  heart  must 
have  failed  him  altogether.  These  elaborate  pages, 
how  poor  they  are  apt  to  look  in  the  cold  light  dark- 
ened by  the  shadow  of -the  grave!  He  would  think 
perhaps  of  the  formidable  academy  in  the  Aldine 
workshops  shaking  their  heads  over  his  work,  pick- 
ing out  inaccuracies — finding  perhaps,  a  danger 
more  appalling  still  to  every  classical  mind,  some- 
thing here  and  there  not  Ciceronian  in  his  Latin. 
Nothing  could  be  more  tragic,  yet  there  is  a  linger- 
ing touch  of  the  ludicrous  too,  so  seldom  entirely 
absent  from  human  afi:'airs.  To  tremble  lest  a 
solecism  should  be  discovered  in  his  style  when  the 
solemnity  of  death  was  already  enveloping  his 
being!  Rather  finish  all  at  one  stroke,  flinging  with 
his  feverish  dying  hands  the  work  never  corrected 
enough,  among  the  blazing  logs,  and  be  done  with 
it  forever.  Amid  all  the  artificial  fervor  of  Renais- 
sance scholarship  and  the  learned  chatter  of  the 
libraries,  what  a  tragic  and  melancholy  scene! 

The  critics  are  careful  to  indicate  that  this  is  not 
the  same  Andrea  Navagero  who  wrote  the  chronicle 
bearing  that  name,  and  whose  work  is  of  the  most 
commonplace  description.  It  is  confusing  to  find 
the  two  so  near  in  time,  and  with  nothing  to 
identify  the  second  bearer  of  the  name  except  that 
he  writes  in  indifferent  Italian  (Venetian),  and  not 
in  classic  Latin,  and  that  his  book  was  given  to  the 
public  while  the  other  Andrea,  lo  Storico,  was  still 
only  a  boy.  The  only  prodiictions  of  the  historian 
SP  called,   though  nothing  of  his  history  survives, 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  379 

seem  to  have  been  certain  Latin  verses  of  more  or 
less  elegance. 

A  very  much  more  important  personage  in  his 
time,    as   in   the    value  of   the  extraordinary    col- 
lections he  left  behind   him,   was   the   diarist    and 
historian    already    referred    to,    Marino    Sanudo. 
He  too,   we  may   remark   in   passing,    is  apt  to  be 
confused   with   an  older  writer  of  the  same  name, 
Marino  Sanudo,   called  Torsello,  who  wrote  on  the 
subject  ot  the  Crusades,  and  on  many  other  matters 
more  exclusively  Venetian,   something  like  a  hun- 
dred  and   fifty   years  before,   in  the  middle  of  the 
fourteenth  century.     The  younger  Sanudo  (or  San- 
uto)    was   born   in    1466,    of  one  of  the  most  noble 
houses  in  Venice,  and  educated  in  all  the  erudition 
of  his  time.       He  was  of  such  a  precocious  genius 
that  between  his  eleventh  and  fourteenth  years  he 
corresponded  with  the  most  eminent  scholars  of  the 
day,   and  gave  the  highest  hopes  of  future  great- 
ness.    Even  in  that  early  age  the  dominant  passion 
of  his  life  had  made  itself  apparent,   and  he  seems 
already  to  have  begun  the  collection  of  docunients 
and  the  record  of  daily  public  events.       At  the  age 
of  eight  it  would  appear  the  precocious  historian 
had  already  copied  out  with  his  own  small  hand  the 
fading   inscriptions   made   by   Petrarch   under   the 
series  of  pictures,  anttcchtssimi,  the  first  of  all  painted 
in  the  Hall  of  the  Great  Council.      Sanudo  himself 
announces   that   he  did  this,  though  without  men- 
tioning his  age;  but  the  anxious  care  of  Mr.  Raw- 
don  Brown,  so  well  known  among  the  English  stu- 
dents and  adorers  of  Venice,  points  out  that  these 
pictures  were  restored  and  had  begun  to  be  repainted 
in  1474,  during  the  childhood  of  his  hero.       There 
could  be   nothing  more  characteristic  and  natural, 
considering   the    after-life   of   the   man,    than   this 
youthful  incident,   and  it  adds  an  interest  the  more 
to  the  hall  in  which  so  often  in  latter  days  our  his- 
torian mounted  the  tribune,  in  re?iga,  as  he  calls  it, 
and  addressed  the  assembled  parliament  of  VenicQ 


380  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

— to  call  before  us  the  small  figure,  tablets  in  hand, 
his  childish  eyes  already  sparkling  with  observation, 
and  that  historical  curiosity  which  was  the  inspira- 
tion of  his  life  —copying,  before  they  should  alto- 
gether perish,  the  inscriptions  under  the  old  pic- 
tures which  told  the  half -fabulous  triumphant  tale 
of  Barbarossa  beaten  and  Venice  victrice.  The 
colors  were  no  doubt  fading,  flakes  of  the  old  dis- 
temper peeling  off  and  a  general  ruin  threatened, 
before  the  Senate  saw  it  necessary  to  renew  that 
historical  chronicle.  When  we  remember  Sanudo's 
humorous,  only  half-believing  note  on  the  subject 
years  after,  "that  if  the  story  had  not  been  true, 
our  brave  Venetians  would  not  have  had  it  painted, ' ' 
it  gives  a  still  more  delightful  glow  of  smiling  inter- 
est to  the  image  of  the  little  Marino,  no  doubt  with 
unwavering  faith  in  his  small  bosom  and  enthusiasm 
for  his  city,  taking  down,  to  the  awe  of  many  an 
unlearned  contemporary,  the  fading  legends  written 
by  the  great  poet,  a  record  at  once  of  the  ancient 
glories  of  Venice  and  of  her  illustrious  guest. 

He  was  seventeen,  however,  and  eager  in  all  the 
exercises  of  a  Venetian  gentleman  when  he  went 
with  his  elder  cousin,  Marco  Sanudo,  who  had  been 
appointed  one  of  the  auditors  or  syndics  of  Terra 
Pirma,  to  Padua  in  the  spring  of  1483.  The  bril- 
liant cavalcade  rode  from  Fusina  by  the  banks  of 
the  Brenta,  then  as  now  a  line  of  villas,  castellos, 
hospitable  houses,  where  they  were  received  with 
great  honor  and  pomp,  and  visited  everything  that 
was  remarkable  in  the  city.  Vtsto  tutto^  is  the 
youth's  record  wherever  he  went:  and  there  can 
indeed  be  no  doubt  that  in  all  his  journeys  the 
young  Marino  saw  and  noted  everything — the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  locality,  the  scenery,  the  his- 
torical occurrences — all  that  is  involved  in  the 
external  aspect  of  a  place  which  had  associations 
both  classical  and  contemporary.  The  character- 
istics of  his  time  are  very  apparent  in  all  his  keen 
remarks  and  inspections.     He  is  told,  he  says,  that 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  381 

Padua  has  many  bodies  of  the  saints,  and  in  this 
respect  is  second  only  to  Rome — but  the  only  sacred 
relic  in  which  he  is  especially  interested  is  the  corpo 
e  vero  osse  of  Livy,  to  which  he  refers  several  times, 
giving  the  epitaph  of  the  classical  historian  at  full 
length.  Strangely  enough,  at  an  age  when  the  art 
of  painting  was  growing  to  its  greatest  develop- 
ment in  Venice,  no  curiosity  seems  to  have  been  in 
the  young  man's  curious  mind,  nor  even  any  knowl- 
edge of  the  fact  that  the  chapel  of  the  Arena  had 
been  adorned  by  the  great  work  of  a  certain  Giotto, 
though  that  is  the  chief  object  now  of  the  pilgrim 
who  goes  to  Padua.  That  beautiful  chapel  must 
have  been  in  its  fullest  glory  of  color  and  noble 
art;  but  there  is  no  evidence  that  our  cavalier  had 
so  much  as  heard  of  it,  though  he  spies  every  scrap 
of  marble  on  the  old  bridges,  and  carefully  quotes 
epigrams  and  verses  about  the  city,  and  records 
every  trifling  circumstance.  "The  markets  are 
Tuesday,  Thursday,  and  Friday."  *' There  are 
forty  parish  churches,  and  four  hospitals,"  etc., 
etc. — but  not  a  word  of  the  then  most  famous  pic- 
tures in  the  world. 

This  is  the  *'Itinerario  in  Terra-firma, "  which  is 
the  first  of  the  young  author's  works.  It  is  full  of 
the  sprightly  impulses  of  a  boy,  and  of  a  boy's 
pleasure  in  movement,  in  novelty,  in  endless  rides 
and  expeditions,  tempered  by  now  and  then  a  day 
in  which  the  syndic  data  audientta  per  toto  eljomo^  his 
young  cousin  sitting  no  doubt  by  his  side  more 
grave  than  any  judge,  to  hide  the  laugh  always 
lurking  at  the  corners  of  his  mouth:  data  benigna 
midieiitia^  he  says  on  one  occasion,  perhaps  on  one 
of  those  May  days  when  he  rode  off  with  a  caval- 
cade of  his  friends  through  that  green  abundant 
country  to  the  village  or  castello  where  lived  the 
queen  of  his  affections — "that  oriental  jewel  [Gem- 
ma], that  lovely  face  which  1  seem  to  have  always 
before  me,  inspiring  me  with  many  songs  for  my 
love."      "Oh,  me!  Oh,  me!"  he  cries  in  half-hum- 


882  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

orous  distraction,  *'I  am  going  mad!  Let  me  go 
and  sing  more  than  ever.  Long  before  this  1  ought 
to  have  been  in  love.  Fain  would  I  sing  of  the 
goddess,  my  bright  Gemma,  whose  lovely  counten- 
ance I  ever  adore,  and  who  has  made  me  with  much 
fear  her  constant  servant."  Gemma  shines  out 
suddenly  like  a  star  only  in  this  one  page  of  the 
"Itinerario. "  Perhaps  he  exhausted  his  boyish 
passion  in  constant  rides  to  Rodigio  or  Ruigo, 
where  the  lady  lived,  and  in  his  songs,  of  which  the 
specimens  given  are  not  remarkable.  But  the  sen- 
timent is  full  of  delightful,  youthful  extravagance: 
and  the  aspect  of  the  young  man  gravely  noting 
everything  by  the  instinct  of  his  nature,  galloping 
forth  among  his  comrades — one  of  whom  he  calls 
Pylades — sorne  half  dozen  of  them,  a  young  Cor- 
naro,  a  Pisani,  the  bluest  blood  in  Venice — scouring 
the  country,  to  see  the  churches,  the  castles  and 
palaces,  and  everything  that  was  to  be  seen,  and 
Gemma  above  all,  mingles  with  charming  ease  and 
inconsistency  the  dawning  statesman,  the  born 
chronicler,  the  gallant,  boyish  lover.  Sometimes 
the  cavalcade  counted  forty  horsemen,  sometimes 
only  three  or  four.  The  "Itinerario"  is  a- mass  of 
information,  full  of  details  which  Professqr  R. 
Fulin,  its  latest  editor,  considers  well  worth  the 
while  of  the  patriotic  Venetian  of  to-day.  "To 
compare  our  provinces  at  four  centuries'  distance 
with  their  present  state  is  certainly  curious,  and 
withoiit  doubt  useful  also,"  he  says — but  the 
glimpses  between  the  lines  of  that  sprightly,  youth- 
ful company  is  to  us  who  are  less  seriously  con- 
cerned still  more  interesting.  *'We  have  before 
our  eyes,"  adds  the  learned  professor,  "a  boy — but 
a  boy  who  begins  to  bear  very  worthily  the  name 
of  Marino  Sanudo. "  It  somewhat  disturbs  all 
Marino's  commentators,  however,  that,  though  his 
education  had  been  so  good  and  classical  references 
abound  in  his  writings,  yet  his  style  is  never  so  ele- 
vated as  his  culture.      It  is  indeed  very  disjointed, 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  883 

entirely  unstudied,  prolix,  though  full  of  an  honest 
simplicity  and  straightforwardness  which  perhaps 
commends  itself  more  to  the  English  taste  than  to 
the  Italian.  In  his  after-life  Sanudo's  power  of 
production  seemed  indeed  endless.  Besides  his  pub- 
lished works,  he  left  behind  him  fifty-six  volumes 
of  his  diary,  chiefly  of  public  events,  a  record  day 
by  day  of  all  the  news  that  came  to  Venice  and  all 
that  happened  there.  It  was  by  the  loving  care  of 
the  Englishman  already  referred  to,  Mr.  Rawdon 
Brown,  a  kindred  spirit,  that  portions  of  those 
wonderful  diaries  were  first  given  to  the  world. 
They  are  now  in  course  of  publication ;  a  mass  of 
minute  and  inexhaustible  information,  from  the  first 
aspect  of  which  I  confess  to  have  shrunk  appalled. 
This  sea  of  facts,  of  picturesque  incidents,  of  an 
eye-witness'  sketches,  and  the  reports  of  an  immed- 
iate actor  in  the  scenes  described  affords  to  the  care- 
ful student  an  almost  unexampled  guide  and  assist- 
ance to  the  understanding  of  the  years  between 
1482  and  1533,  from  Sanudo's  youth  to  the  end  of 
his  life. 

The  *'Vitae  Ducum,"  from  which  we  have  already 
quoted  largely,  is  full  of  the  defects  of  style  which 
were  peculiar  to  this  voluminous  writer;  they  are 
charged  with  repetitions  and  written  without  re- 
gard to  any  rules  of  composition  or  prejudices  of 
style — but  their  descriptions  are  often  exceedingly 
picturesque  in  unadorned  simplicity,  and  the  reflec- 
tions of  popular  belief  and  the  report  of  the 
moment  give  often,  as  the  reader  will  observe  on 
turning  back  to  our  earlier  chapters,  an  idea  of  the 
manner  in  which  an  incident  struck  the  contempo- 
rary mind,  which  is  exceedingly  instructive,  even 
though,  as  often  happens,  it  cannot  be  supported 
by  documents  or  historical  proof.  To  my  thinking 
it  is  at  least  quite  as  interesting  to  know  what 
account  was  given  among  the  people  of  a  great 
event,  and  how  it  shaped  itself  in  the  general 
mind,  as    to    understand  the  form  it  takes  in  the 


384  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

archives  of  the  country  when  it  has  fallen  into  per- 
spective, and  into  the  inevitable  subordination  of 
individual  facts  to  the  broader  views  of  history.  At 
the  same  time  Sanudo's  story,  while  keeping  this 
popular  character,  is  supported  by  the  citation  of 
innumerable  public  documents  to  which  he  had 
access  in  his  character  of  politician  and  magistrate; 
so  that  the  essentially  different  characteristics  of 
the  legendary  and  the  documentary  history  are 
combined  in  this  loosely  written,  quaintly  ex- 
pressed, most  real  and  interesting  chronicle.  The 
work  is  said  to  have  been  composed  by  Sanudo  be- 
tween his  eighteenth  and  his  twenty-seventh  years. 
The  garrulous  tone  and  rambling  narrative  are 
more  like  an  old  man  than  a  young  one;  but  it  is 
evident  that  the  instinct  of  the  chronicler,  the  min- 
ute and  constant  observation — the  ears  open  and 
eyes  intent  upon  everything  small  and  great  which 
could  be  discussed,  with  a  certain  absence  of  dis- 
crimination between  the  important  and  the  unim- 
portant which  is  the  characteristic  defect  of  these 
great  qualities — was  in  him  from  the  beginning  of 
his  career. 

The  great  printer  Aldus  dedicated  one  of  his 
publications  to  Sanudo  in  the  year  1498,  when  our 
Marino  was  but  thirty-two  —in  which  already  men- 
tion is  made,  as  of  completed  works,  of  the  '*Mag- 
istratus  Urbis  Venetse,"  the  "Vitis  Principium," 
and  the  *'De  Bello  Gallico,"  all  then  ready  for  pub- 
lication "both  in  Latin  and  the  vulgar  tongue,  that 
they  may  be  read  by  learned  and  unlearned  alike." 
From  this  it  is  apparent  that  Sanudo  had  also 
already  begun  his  wonderful  diaries,  the  collection 
of  his  great  library,  and  the  public  life  which  would 
seem  in  its  many  activities  incompatible  with  these 
ceaseless  toils.  He  followed  all  these  pursuits,  how- 
ever, through  the  rest  of  his  life.  His  diaries 
became  the  greatest  storehouses  of  minute  informa- 
tion, perhaps,  existing  in  the  world;  his  library  was 
the  wonder  of  all  visitors  to  Venice;  and  the  record 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  385 

of  his  own  acts  and  occupations,  chronicled  along 
with  everything  else  in  his  daily  story  of  the  life  of 
the  city,  shows  a  perpetual  activity  which  takes 
away  the  beholder's  breath.  His  speeches  in  the 
Senate,  generally  recorded  as  '*/<?  Manno  Smmdo 
Cofiiradixty''  were  numberless.  He  was  employed 
in  all  kinds  of  public  missions  and  work.  He  was 
in  succession  a  Signore  di  Notte,  a  Savio  degli 
Ordini,  one  of  the  Pregadi,  one  of  the  Zonta,  a 
member  of  the  Senate,  Avvogadore ;  exercising  the 
functions  of  magistrate,  member  of  Parliament, 
statesman — and  taking  a  part  in  all  great  discus- 
sions upon  state  affairs,  whether  in  the  Senate  or  in 
the  Great  Council.  He  was,  as  Mr.  Raw  don 
Brown,  using  the  terms  natural  to  an  Englishman, 
describes,  almost  always  in  opposition — "contradict- 
ing," to  use  his  own  expression;  and  for  this  rea- 
son was  less  fortunate  than  many  obscure  persons 
whose  only  record  is  in  his  work.  Again  and 
again  he  has  to  tell  us  that  the  votes  are  given 
against  him,  that  he  comes  out  last  in  the  ballot, 
that  for  a  time  he  is  no  longer  of  the  Senate,  and 
excluded  from  public  office.  But  he  never  loses 
heart  nor  withdraws  from  the  lists.  *'/<?  Marino 
Sanudo  e  dt  la  Zojita^''  he  describes  himself; 
always  proud  of  his  position  and  eager  to  retain  or 
recover  it,  when  lost.  A  man  of  such  endless  in- 
dustry, activity  of  mind  and  actions,  universal  in- 
terest and  intelligence,  would  be  remarkable  any- 
where and  at  any  time. 

His  first  entry  into  public  life  was  in  March,  1498 
— *'a  day  to  be  held  in  eternal  memory"  ^  a  few 
months  later  he  was  elected  Senator,  and  passed 
through  various  duties  and  offices,  always  actively 
employed.  The  first  break  in  this  busy  career  he 
records  on  the  ist  of  April,  1503: 

Having  accomplished  my  term  of  service  in  the  Ordini 
(Savii  degli  Ordini),  in  which  I  have  had  five  times  the  reward 
of  public  approbation,  and  having  passed  out  of  the  college, 
I  now  determine  that,  God  granting  it,  I  will  let  no  day  pass 

25  Venice 


886  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

without  writing  the  news  that  comes  from  day  to  day,  so 
that  I  may  the  better,  accustoming  myself  to  the  strict  truth, 
go  on  with  my  true  history,  which  was  begun  several  years 
ago.  Seeking  no  eloquence  of  composition,  I  will  thus  note 
down  everything  as  it  happens. 

This  retirement,  however,  does  not  last  long;  for 
within  a  few  months  we  read: 

Having  been,  in  the  end  of  September,  without  any  appli- 
cation on  my  part,  or  desire  to  re-enter,  elected  by  the  grace 
of  the  fathers  of  the  Senate,  in  a  council  of  the  Pregadi,  for 
the  sixth  time,  Savio  degli  Ordini,  I  have  decided  not  to 
refuse  ojEce,  for  two  reasons.  First,  because  I  desire  always 
to  do  what  I  can  for  the  benefit  of  our  republic ;  the  second; 
because  my  former  service  in  the  college  was  always  in  times 
of  great  tribulation  during  the  Turkish  war,  in  which  I 
endured  no  little  fatigue  of  mind.  But  now  that  peace  with 
the  Turk  has  been  signed,  as  I  have  recorded  in  the  former 
book,  I  find  myself  again  in  the  college  in  a  time  ot  tranquil- 
lity ;  therefore,  with  the  Divine  aid,  following  my  first  deter- 
mination, I  will  describe  here  day  by  day  the  things  that 
occur,  the  plain  facts ;  leaving  for  the  moment  every  attempt 
at  an  elaborate  style  aside. 

Other  notices  of  a  similar  kind  follow  at  inter- 
vals. Now  and  then  there  occur  gaps,  and  on  sev- 
eral occasions  Marino  puts  on  a  little  polite  sem- 
blance of  being  rather  pleased  than  otherwise  when 
these  occur;  but  gradually,  as  the  tide  of  public 
life  seizes  him.  becomes  more  and  more  impatient 
of  exclusion,  and  cease  to  pretend  that  he  likes  it, 
or  that  it  suits  him.  His  time  of  peace  did  not  last 
long.  The  league  of  Cambrai  rose  like  a  great 
storm  from  west  and  south  and  north,  threatening 
to  overwhelm  the  republic,  which,  as  usual  in  such 
great  dangers,  was  heavy  with  fears,  and  torn  with 
intrigues  within,  when  most  seriously  threatened 
from  without,  Sanudo  tells  us  of  an  old  senator  long 
retired  from  public  life  for  whom  the  doge  sent  in 
the  horror  of  the  first  disasters,  and  who,  beginning 
to  weep,  said  to  his  wife,  **Give  me  my  cloak.  I 
will  go  to  the  council,  to  say  four  words,  and  then 
die."  The  troubled  council,  where  every  man  had 
gome   futile  expedient  to  advise,  a  change  of  the 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  M 

Proveciitori,  or  the  sending  of  a  new  commissioner 
to  the  camp  of  the  defeated,  is  pnt  before  us  in  a 
few  words.  Sanudo  himself  was  strongly  in  favor 
of  two  things — that  the  doge  himself  should  take 
the  field,  and  that  an  embassy  should  be  sent  to 
the  Turk  to  ask  for  help.  He  gives  a  melancholy 
description  of  the  great  Ascension  Day,  the  holiday 
of  the  year  which  fell  at  this  miserable  moment 
when  the  forces  of  the  republic  were  in  full  rout, 
retreating  from  point  to  point. 

17  May,  1509. — It  was  Ascension  Day  [La  Sensa],  but 
there  was  nothing  but  weeping.  No  visitors  were  to  be 
heard,  of,  no  one  was  visible  in  the  Piazza;  the  fathers  of  the 
college  were  broken  down  with  trouble,  and  still  more  our 
doge,  who  never  spoke,  but  looked  like  a  dead  man.  And 
much  was  said  for  this  last  time  of  sending  the  doge  in  person 
to  Verona,  to  encourage  our  army  and  our  people  there,  and 
to  send  five  hundred  gentlemen  with  his  Serenity,  at  their 
own  expense.  Thus  the  talk  went  in  the  Piazza  and  on  the 
benches  of  the  Pregadi,  but  those  of  the  college  (of  senators) 
took  no  action,  nor  did  the  doge  offer  himself.  He  said,  how- 
ever, to  his  sons  and  dependents,  "The  doge  will  do  whatever 
the  country  desires."  At  the  same  time  he  is  more  dead  than 
alive ;  he  is  seventy-three.  Thus  those  evil  days  go  on ;  we 
see  our  own  ruin,  and  do  nothing  to  prevent  it.  God  grant 
that  what  I  proposed  had  been  done.  I  had  desired  to  re- 
enter as  a  Savio  degli  Ordini,  but  was  advised  against  it,  and 
now  I  am  very  sorry  not  to  have  carried  out  my  wish,  to  have 
procured  five  or  six  thousand  Turks,  and  sent  a  secretary  or 
ambassador  to  the  Sultan ;  but  now  it  is  too  late. 

Sanudo's  project  of  calling,  in  the  Turks  their 
ancient  enemies  to  help  them  against  the  league  of 
Christian  princes  seemed,  a  dangerous  expedient 
but  it  must  be  remembered  that  the  republic  was  in 
despair.  The  poor  old  doge  who  was  more  dead 
than  alive,  yet  ready  to  do  whatever  the  country 
wished,  was  Leonardo  Loredano,  whose  portrait  is 
so  notable  an  object  in  our  National  Gallery.  In 
the  midst  of  all  these  troubles,  however,  while  the 
Venetian  statesmen  were  making  anxious  visits  to 
their  nearest  garrison,  and  reviewing  and  collecting 
every  band  they  could  get  together,  the  familiar 


388  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

strain  of  common  lite  comes  in  with  such  a  para- 
graph as  the  following : 

17  July,  1509. — On  the  way  to  my  house  I  met  a  man  hav- 
ing a  beautiful  Hebrew  Bible  in  good  paper,  value  twenty 
ducats,  who  sold  it  to  me  as  a  favor  for  one  marzello ;  which 
I  took  to  place  it  in  my  library. 

We  are  unable  to  say  what  was  the  value  of  a 
marzello,  but  it  is  evident  that  he  got  his  Bible  at  a 
great  bargain,  taking  in  this  case  a  little  permissi- 
ble advantage  of  the  troubles- of  the  time. 

There  is  something  calming  and  composing  to 
the  mind  in  a  long  record  like  this  extending  over 
many  years.  There  occurs  the  episode  of  a  great 
war,  of  many  privations,  misfortunes,  and  bereave- 
ments, such  as  seem  to  cover  the  whole  world  with 
gloom ;  but  we  have  only  to  turn  a  few  pages,  how- 
ever agitated,  however  moving  may  be  the  record, 
and  we  find  the  state,  the  individual  sufferer,  who- 
soever it  may  be,  going  on  calmly  about  the  ordi- 
nary daily  businesses  of  life,  and  the  storm  gone 
by.  These  storms  and  wars  and  catastrophes  are 
after  all  but  accidents  in  the  calmer  career  which 
fills  all  the  undistinguished  nights  and  days,  only 
opening  here  and  there  to  reveal  one  which  is  full 
of  trouble,  which  comes  and  departs  again.  His- 
tory, indeed,  makes  more  of  these  episodes  than 
life  does,  for  they  are  her  milestones  by  which  to 
guide  her  path  through  the  dim  multitude  of  une- 
ventful days.  Our  historian,  however,  in  his  end- 
less record,  gives  the  small  events  of  peace  almost 
as  much  importance  as  the  confusion  and  excite- 
ment of  the  desperate  moment  when  Venice  stood 
against  all  Europe,  holding  her  own. 

Sanudo's  public  life  was  one  of  continual  ups  and 
downs.  He  would  seem  to  have  been  a  determined 
conservative,  opposing  every  innovation,  though  at 
the  same  time,  like  many  men  of  that  opinion  ex- 
ceedingly daring  in  any  suggestion  that  approved 
itself  to  his  mind,  as  for  instance,  in  respect  to 
asking   aid  from  the  Turks,  which  was  not  a  step 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  889 

likely  to  commend  itself  to  a  patriot  of  his  princi- 
ples. And  he  would  not  seem  to  have  been  very 
popular  even  among  his  own  kindred,  for  there  are 
various  allusions  to  family  intrigues  against  him, 
as  well  as  to  the  failure  of  his  hopes  in  respect  to 
elections  and  appointments.  But  that  extraordina- 
rily limited,  intense  life  of  the  Venetian  oligarchy, 
a  world  pent  up  within  a  city,  with  all  its  subtle 
trains  of  diplomacy,  determined  independence  on 
its  own  side,  and  equally  determined  desire  to  have 
something  to  say  in  every  European  imbroglio,  was 
naturally  a  life  full  of  intrigue,  of  perpetual  risings 
and  fallings,  where  every  man  had  to  sustain  dis- 
comfiture in  his  day,  and  was  ready  to  trip  up  his 
neighbor  whenever  occasion  served.  Marino's  in- 
clination to  take  in  all  matters  a  side  of  his  own 
was  not  a  popular  quality,  and  it  is  evident  that, 
like  many  other  obstinate  and  clear-sighted  pro- 
testors, he  was  often  right,  often  enough  at  least  to 
make  him  an  alarming  critic  and  troublesome  dis- 
turber of  existing  parties,  being  at  all  times,  like 
the  smith  of  Perth,  for  his  own  hand.  "I,  Marino 
Sanudo,  moved  by  my  conscience,  went  to  the 
meeting  and  opposed  the  new  proposals"  a?idai  in 
renga  etcontradixi  aquesto  modo  nove,  is  a  statement 
which  is  continually  recurring.  And  as  the  long 
list  of  volumes  grows,  there  is  a  preface  to  almost 
every  new  year,  in  which  he  complains,  explains, 
defends  his  actions,  and  appeals  against  unfavorable 
judgments,  sometimes  threatening  to  relinquish  his 
toils,  taking  them  up  again,  consoling  himself  by 
the  utterance  of  his  complaint.  On  one  occasion 
he  thanks  God  that  notwithstanding  much  illness 
he  still  remains  able  "to  do  something  in  this  age 
in  honor  of  the  eternal  majesty  and  exaltation  of 
the  Venetian  State,  to  which  I  can  never  fail,  being 
born  in  that  allegiance,  for  which  I  would  die  a 
thousand  times  if  that  could  advantage  my  coun- 
try, notwithstanding  that  I  have  been  beaten,  worn 
out,  and  evil  entreated  in  her  councils." 


390  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

In  the  past  year  [1522]  I  have  been  dismissed  from  the  Giunta 
[Zonta],  of  which  two  years  ago  I  was  made  a  member,  but, 
while  1  sat  in  that  Senate  I  always  in  my  speeches  did  my 
best  for  my  country,  with  full  honor  from  the  senators  for 
my  opinions  and  judgment,  even  when  against  those  of  my 
colleagues.  And  this  is  the  thing  that  has  injured  me;  for 
had  I  been  mute,  applauding  individuals  as  is  the  present 
fashion,  letting  things  pass  that  are  against  the  interest  of 
my  dearest  country,  acting  contrary  to  the  law,  as  those  who 
have  the  guidance  of  the  city  permit  to  be  done,  even  had  I 
not  been  made  Avvogadore,  I  should  have  been  otherwise 
treated.  But  seeing  all  silent,  my  conscience  pushing  me  to 
make  me  speak,  since  God  has  granted  me  good  utterance,  an 
excellent  memory,  and  much  knowledge  of  things,  having 
described  them  for  so  many  years,  and  seen  all  the  records  of 
public  business,  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  should  sin  against  my- 
self if  I  did  not  deliver  my  opinion  in  respect  to  the  questions 
discussed,  knowing  that  those  who  took  the  other  side  com- 
plained of  being  opposed,  because  they  hoped  to  reap  some 
benefit  from  the  proposals  in  question.  But  I  caring  only  for 
the  public  advantage,  all  seemed  to  me  nothing  in  comparison 
with  the  good  of  my  country.  ...  I  confess  that  this  repulse 
has  caused  me  no  small  grief,  and  has  been  the  occasion  of 
my  illness ;  and  if  again  I  was  rejected  in  the  ballot  for  the 
past  year  it  was  little  wonder,  seeing  that  many  thought  me 
dead,  or  so  infirm  that  I  was  no  longer  good  for  anything  not 
having  stirred  from  my  house  for  many  months  before. 
But  the  Divine  bounty  has  still  preserved  me,  and,  as  1  have 
said,  enabled  me  to  complete  the  diary  of  the  year;  for  how- 
ever suffering  I  was  I  never  failed  to  record  the  news  of  every 
day  which  was  brought  to  me  by  my  friends  so  that  another 
volume  is  finished.  I  had  some  thought  of  now  giving  up 
this  laborious  work,  but  some  ot  my  countrymen  who  love 
me  say  to  me  "Marin,  make  no  mistake,  follow  the  way  you 
have  begun,  remember  tnoglie  eviagistrato  e  del  del  destinato'* 
(marriages  and  magistrates  are  made  in  heaven). 

In  another  of  these  many  prefaces,  Sanudo  reflects 
that  he  has  now  attained  his  fifty-fifth  year,  and 
that  it  is  time  to  stop  this  incessant  making  of  notes, 
and  to  set  himself  to  the  work  of  polishing  and  set- 
ting forth  in  a  more  careful  style,  and  in  the  form 
of  dignified  history,  his  mass  of  material,  "being 
now  of  the  number  of  the  senators  of  the  Giunta 
and  engaged  in  many  cares  and  occupations:'* 

But  I  am  persuaded  by  one  who  has  a  right  to  command,  by 
the  noble  lord  Lorenzo  Loredano,  procurator,  son  of  our  Most 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  391 

Serene  Prince,  who  many  times  has  exhorted  me  not  to  give 
up  the  work  which  I  have  begun,  saying  that  in  the  end  it 
will  bring  me  glory  and  perpetual  fame ;  and  praying  me  at 
least  to  continue  it  during  the  lifetime  of  his  Serene  father, 
who  has  been  our  doge  for  nineteen  years,  who  has  been  in 
many  labors  for  the  republic,  and  having  regained  a  great  part 
of  all  that  had  been  lost  in  the  late  great  and  terrible  war, 
now  waits  the  conclusion  of  all  things,  being  of  the  age  of 
eighty-four.  He  cannot  be  expected  to  live  long,  although  of 
a  perfect  constitution,  lately  recovered  from  a  serious  illness, 
and  never  absent  from  the  meetings  of  the  Senate  or  council, 
or  failing  in  anything  that  is  for  the  benefit  of  the  state.  For 
these  reasons  1  have  resolved  not  to  relinquish  the  work  which 
I  have  begun,  nor  to  neglect  that  which  I  know  will  be  of 
great  use  to  posterity,  the  highest  honor  to  my  country,  and 
to  myself  an  everlasting  memorial. 

Thus  our  chronicler  over  and  over  again  persuades 
himself  to  continue  and  accomplish  what  it  was  the 
greatest  happiness  and  first  impulse  of  his  life  to  do. 

It  was  when  the  great  war  against  the  League 
was  over,  and  all  had  returned  in  peace  to  their 
usual  occupations,  Sanudo  to  the  library  which  he 
was  gradually  making  into  one  of  the  wonders  of 
Venice,  and  to  his  still  more  wonderful  work,  that 
the  Senate  executed  that  job — if  we  may  be  allowed 
the  word — and  elected  young  Navagero,  because  he 
was  so  poor,  to  the  office,  heretofore  only  an  imag- 
ination, of  historian  ot  the  republic.  Marino  was 
nearly  fifty,  and  still  in  the  full  heat  of  political 
life,  giving  his  opinion  on  every  subject,  "contra- 
dicting" freely,  and  taking  nothing  for  granted, 
when  this  appointment  was  made;  and  there  is  no 
doubt  that  to  be  passed  over  thus  for  so  much 
younger  and  less  important  a  man  must  have  been 
a  great  mortification  for  the  indefatigable  chronicler 
of  every  national  event.  He  speaks  with  a  certain 
quiet  scorn  in  one  place  of  Messer  Andrea  Navagero 
stipendiate  pubblico  per  serivere  la  Histotia.  Nor  was 
this  the  only  wrong  done  him,  for  the  successor 
appointed  to  Navagero,  after  a  long  interval  of 
time,  it  would  appear,  was  another  man  with  oppor- 
tunities and  faculties  much  less  appropriate  than 
his  own,  the  learned  dilettante,  Pietro  Bembo,  after- 


392  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

ward  cardinal.  Bembo  had  spent  the  greater  part 
of  his  life  out  of  Venice:  in  Rome,  at  the  court  of 
the  Pope,  where  he  filled  some  important  offices;  at 
Padua,  which  was  his  home  in  his  later  years;  at 
the  court  of  Mantua  at  the  period  when  that  court 
was  the  center  of  cultivation  and  fine  sentiment. 
Indeed,  we  find  only  occasional  traces  of  him  at 
Venice ;  though  one  of  his  first  works  was  about  the 
fantastic  little  court  of  Queen  Catherine  Cornaro, 
at  Asolo,  a  small  Decameron,  full  of  the  unreal 
prettiness,  the  masques,  and  posturing,  and  versifi- 
cations of  the  time.  It  was  to  this  man  that  in  the 
second  place  the  office  of  historian  was  given  over 
the  head  of  our  Marino;  nor  was  this  the  only  vexa- 
tion to  which  he  was  exposed.  One  of  the  docu- 
ments quoted  by  Mr.  Rawdon  Brown  is  a  letter  trom 
Bembo,  an  appeal  to  the  doge  to  compel  Sanudo  to 
open  to  him  the  treasures  of  his  collection,  one  of 
the  most  curious  demands,  perhaps,  that  were  ever 
made.  It  is  dated  from  Padua,  the  7th  August, 
1531,  and  shows  that  not  even  for  the  writing  of 
the  history  did  this  official  of  the  Senate  remove  his 
dwelling  to  Venice. 

Serene  Prince,  my  lord  always  honored.  Last  winter,  when 
I  was  in  Venice,  I  saw  the  histories  of  Messer  Marin  Sanudo, 
and  it  appeared  to  me  that  they  were  of  a  quality,  though 
including  much  that  is  unnecessary,  to  give  me  light  on  an 
infinite  number  of  things  needful  for  me  in  carrying  out  the 
work  committed  to  my  hands  by  your  Serenity.  1  begged 
of  him  to  allow  me  to  read  and  go  over  these,  as  might  be 
necessary  for  my  work ;  to  which  he  replied  that  these  books 
were  the  care  and  labor  of  his  whole  life,  and  that  he  would 
not  give  the  sweat  of  his  brow  to  anyone.  Upon  which  I 
went  away  with  the  intention  of  doing  wiihout  them,  though 
I  did  not  see  how  it  would  be  possible.  ow  I  perceive  that 
if  I  must  see  the  public  letters  of  your  Serenity  in  order  to 
understand  many  things  contained  in  the  books  of  the  Senate, 
which  are  very  necessary  for  the  true  understanding  of  the 
acts  of  this  illustrious  Dominion,  this  labor  will  be  a  thing 
impossible  to  me,  and,  if  possible,  would  be  infinite.  Where- 
fore I  entreat  your  Serenity  to  exercise  your  authority  with 
Messer  Marin  to  let  me  have  his  books  in  my  own  hands 
according  as  it  shall  be  necessary ;  pledging  myself  to  return 
them  safe  and  unhurt. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  m 

Perhaps  it  was  the  visible  invidiousness  of  this 
appeal,  the  demand  upon  a  man  who  had  been 
passed  over,  for  the  use  of  his  collections  in  the 
execution  of  a  work  for  which  he  was  so  much  bet- 
ter qualified  than  the  actual  holder  of  the  office, 
which  shamed  the  Senate  at  last  into  according  to 
Marino  a  certain  recompense  for  his  toil.  Mr. 
Rawdon  Brown  makes  it  evident  that  this  allow- 
ance or  salary  came  very  late  in  the  life  of  the 
neglected  historian.  The  Council  of  Ten  gave  him 
a  hundred  and  fifty  ducats  a  year  as  an  acknowledg- 
ment of  the  existence  of  his  books,  '*  which  I  vow  to 
God,"  he  says,  '*is  nothing  to  the  great  labor  they 
have  cost  me."  It  is  but  a  conjecture,  but  it  does 
not  seem  without  probability,  that  the  rulers  of  the 
republic  may  have  been  shamed  into  bestowing  this 
provision  by  Bembo's  peevish  appeal,  and  that, 
mollified  by  the  grant,  Marino  permitted  the  use  of 
his  sudoriy  the  sweat  of  his  brow,  the  labor  of  his 
life,  to  the  official  historian,  whose  work  even  Fos- 
carini,  dry  himself  to  the  utmost  permissible  limit 
of  aridity,  confesses  to  be  very  dry,  and  which  pos- 
sesses nothing  of  the  charm  of  natural  animation 
and  verisimilitude  which  is  in  Sanudo's  rough,  con- 
fused, and  often  chaotic  narrative. 

This  wonderful  work  was  carried  on  till  the  year 
1533,  and  finally  filled  fifty-six  large  volumes,  the 
history  of  every  day  being  brought  down  to  within 
two  years  and  a  half  of  the  author's  death.  He  left 
this  extraordinary  collection  to  the  republic  in  a 
will  dated  4th  December,  1533,  immediately  after 
the  close  of  the  record. 

I  desire  and  ordain  that  all  my  books  of  the  history  and 
events  of  Italy  written  with  my  own  hand,  beginning  with 
the  coming  of  King  Charles  of  France  into  Italy,  books  bound 
and  inclosed  in  a  bookcase  to  the  number  of  fifty-six,  should 
be  for  my  illustrious  Signoria,  to  be  presented  to  them  by  my 
executors,  and  placed  wherever  it  seems  to  them  good  by  the 
Heads  of  the  Council  of  Ten,  by  which  excellent  council  an 
allowance  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  ducats  a  year  was  made  to 


3^4  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

me,  which  I  swear  before  God  is  nothing  to  the  great  labor  I 
have  had. 

Also  I  will  and  ordain  that  all  my  other  printed  books,  which 
are  in  my  great  study  downstairs,  and  those  manuscripts  which 
are  in  my  bookcases  {armeri,  Scottice,  aumries)  in  my  cham- 
ber, which  are  more  than  6,500  in  number,  which  have  cost  me 
a  great  deal  of  money,  and  are  very  fine  and  genuine,  many 
of  them  impossible  to  replace ;  of  which  there  is  an  inventory 
marked  with  the  price  I  paid  for  each  (those  which  have  a 
cross  opposite  the  name  I  sold  in  the  time  of  my  poverty):  I 
desire  my  executors  that  they  should  all  be  sold  by  public 
auction.  And  I  pray  my  Lords  Procurators,  or  Gastaldi,  not 
to  permit  these  books  to  be  thrown  away,  especially  those  in 
manuscript,  which  are  very  fine  and  have  cost  me  a  great 
deal,  as  will  be  seen  in  the  inventory;  and  those  in  boards  and 
the  works  printed  in  Germany  have  also  cost  me  no  small 
sum.  And  I  made  so  much  expenditure  in  books  because  I 
wished  to  form  a  library  in  some  monastery,  or  to  find  a  place 
for  some  of  them  in  the  library  of  S.  Marco ;  but  this  library 
I  no  longer  believe  in,  therefore,  I  have  changed  my  mind  and 
wish  everything  to  be  sold — which  books  are  now  of  more 
value  than  when  I  bought  them,  having  purchased  them 
advantageously  in  times  of  famine,  and  having  had  great 
bargains  of  them.  Wherefore,  Messer  Zanbatista  Egnazio 
and  Messer  Antonio  di  Marsilio,  seeing  the  index,  will  be  able 
to  form  an  estimate  and  not  allow  them  to  be  thrown  away, 
as  is  the  custom. 

This  resolution  was  taken  because  the  new  library 
of  S.  Marco,  so  longf  promised  to  the  Venetians,  had 
not  yet  been  begun;  and  the  old  collector,  loving 
his  books  as  it  they  had  been  his  children,  had  evi- 
dently lost  heart  and  faith  in  any  undertaking  of 
this  kind  being  carried  out  in  Venice.  No  doubt  he 
had  heard  of  the  legacy  made  by  Petrarch  two  hun- 
dred years  before  to  the  republic,  and  how  it  had 
disappeared,  if  not  that  the  rotting  remains  of  the 
poet's  bequest  still  lay  in  the  chamber  on  the  roof 
of  S.  Marco,  where  they  had  been  thrown  with  a 
carelessness  which  looks  very  much  like  contempt, 
and  as  if  the  busy  city  had  no  time  for  such  van- 
ities. This  sale  of  his  books  would  at  least  pay  his 
creditors  and  be  an  inheritance  for  the  nephews 
who  had  taken  the  place  of  children  to  him,  yet 
were  not  too  grateful  for  his  care.      The   fifty-six 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  398 

volumes  in  the  great  oak  press,  however,  profited 
scarcely  more  than  Petrarch's  gift  from  being 
placed  in  the  custody  of  the  tremendous  Ten. 
They  were  deposited  somewhere  out  of  reach  of 
harm,  it  is  to  be  supposed,  after  the  author's  death, 
but  were  so  completely  lost  sight  of  that  the  con- 
scientious Foscarini  makes  as  little  account  of  Mar- 
ino Sanudo  as  if  he  had  been  but  a  mere  chronicler 
of  the  lives  of  certain  doges,  with  a  wealth  of  docu- 
mentary evidence  indeed,  but  no  refinement  of  style 
nor  special  importance  as  a  chronicler.  It  was  not 
till  the  year  1805  that  these  books  were  found,  in 
the  Royal  Library  at  Vienna,  got  there,  nobody 
knows  how,  in  some  accident  of  the  centuries. 
They  are  now  being  printed  in  all  their  amplitude, 
as  has  been  already  said;  a  mine  of  incalculable 
historic  wealth. 

During  the  whole  time  of  their  composition 
Sanudo  was  a  public  official  and  magistrate,  taking 
the  most  active  part  in  all  the  business  of  his  time. 
And  he  was  also  a  collector,  filling  his  library  with 
everything  he  could  find  to  illustrate  his  work,  from 
the  great  mappa?nondo,  which  was  one  of  the  chief 
wonders  of  his  study,  down  to  drawings  of  cos- 
tumes, and  of  the  animals  and  flowers  of  those  sub- 
ject provinces  of  Venice  which  he  had  visited  in  his 
gay  youth,  where  he  had  found  his  first  love,  and 
which,  in  later  days,  he  had  seen  lost  and  won 
again.  "The  illustrious  strangers  who  visited  Ven- 
ice in  those  days  went  away  dissatisfied  unless  they 
had  seen  the  Arsenal,  the  jewels  of  S.  Marco,  and 
the  library  of  Sanudo. ' '  On  one  occasion  he  himself 
tells  of  a  wandering  prince  who  sent  to  ask  if  he 
might  see  this  collection,  and  above  all  its  owner; 
but  Marino  was  out  of  humor  or  tired  of  illustrious 
visitors,  and  refused  to  receive  him.  Some  of  these 
visitors,  quoted  by  the  learned  Professor  Fulin, 
have  left  records  of  their  visits,  and  of  how  they 
came  out  of  the  modest  house  of  the  historian  stupe- 
fied with  wonder  and  admiration.     *'vStupefied  cer- 


396  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

tainly,"  adds  the  professor,  "was  that  gentleman  of 
Vicenza,  Federico  do  Porto,  who  exclaims  in  his 
poem  on  the  subject,  'He  who  would  see  the  sea, 
the  earth,  and  the  vast  world,  must  seek  your  house, 
O  learned  Marino!*" 

Sanudo  had  indeed  collected  a  series,  marvelous  for  his 
time,  of ^  pictures  (whether  drawn,  painted,  or  engraved  we 
cannot  now  ascertain),  in  which  were  represented  not  only  the 
different  forms  of  the  principal  European  nations,  but  the 
ethnographical  varieties  of  the  human  race  in  the  Old  World, 
and  also  in  the  New,  then  recently  discovered.  Da  Porto 
continues  as  follows: 

"Then  up  the  stairs  you  lead  us,  and  we  find 
A  spacious  corridor  before  us  spread, 
As  if  it  were  another  ocean  full 
Of  rarest  things ;  the  wall  invisible 
With  curious  pictures  hid — no  blank  appears 
But  various  figures,  men  of  every  guise ; 
A  thousand  unaccustomed  scenes  we  see. 
Here  Spain,  there  Greece,  and  here  the  apparel  fair 
Of  France ;  nor  is  there  any  land  left  out. 
The  New  World,  with  its  scarce  known  tribes,  is  there. 
Nor  is  there  any  place  so  far  remote 
That  does  not  send  some  envoy  to  your  walls. 
Or  can  refuse  to  show  its  wonders  there." 

A  great  picture  of  Verona,  where  Marino  had 
filled  the  office  ot  Camerlengo,  and  where  the  uncle 
who  stood  to  him  in  place  of  a  father  was  captain, 
seems  to  have  been  a  special  attraction,  and  is  cel- 
ebrated by  many  visitors  in  very  bad  Latin.  We 
are  obliged  to  admit  that  the  description  of  the  col- 
lection sounds  very  much  like  that  of  a  popular 
museum,  and  does  not  at  all  resemble  the  high  art 
which  we  should  expect  from  such  a  connoisseur 
nowadays.  But  probably  the  things  with  which 
we  should  fill  our  shelves  and  niches  were  the  meer- 
est  commonplaces  to  Sanudo,  to  whom  the  different 
fashions  of  men,  and  their  dresses  and  their  ways, 
and  their  dwellings  (his  own  youthful  "Itinerario" 
is  illustrated  by  sketches  of  towns  and  houses  and 
fortifications,  in  the  style  of  the  nursery),  would  be 
infinitely  more  interesting  than  those  art  productions 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  397 

of  his  own  time,  which  form  our  delight.  His 
books,  however,  were  the  most  dear  of  all ;  and  the 
glimpse  we  have  of  the  old  man  seated  among  his 
ancient  tomes,  so  carefully  catalogued  and  laid  up 
in  these  great  wooden  armen,  no  doubt  rich  with 
carving,  and  for  one  of  which  a  nineteenth  century 
collector  would  give  his  little  finger,  though  they 
are  not  worth  thinking  of,  mere  furniture  to  Mar- 
ino, is  most  interesting  and  attractive.  With  what 
pleasure  he  must  have  drawn  forth  his  pen  when  he 
came  in  from  the  council,  having  happily  delivered 
himself  of  a  lu?igo  e  perfeita  re?iga,  to  put  it  all  down 
— how  he  held  out  against  the  payment  of  the  mag- 
istrates, for  example,  and  contradicted  every  modo 
novo;  or  when  sick  and  infirm  himself,  the  quiet  of 
the  study  was  broken  by  one  after  another  visitor 
in  toga  or  scarlet  gown,  fresh  from  the  excitements 
of  the  contest,  recounting  how,  at  the  fifteenth 
hour,  has  come  a  messenger  with  news  from  the 
camp,  or  a  gallery  all  adorned  with  green,  bearing 
the  report  of  a  victory!  The  old  man  with  his  huge 
book  spread  out,  his  ink-horn  always  ready,  his 
every  sense  acute,  his  mind  filled  with  parallel 
cases,  with  a  hundred  comparisons,  and  that 
delightful  conviction  that  it  was  not  only  for  the 
benefit  of  the  canssima  patna,  but  for  his  own  eter- 
nal fame  and  glory,  that  he  continued  page  by  page 
and  day  by  day,  furnishes  us  with  a  picture  charac- 
teristically Venetian,  inspired  by  the  finest  instmcts 
of  his  race.  He  was  no  meek  recluse  or  humble 
scribe,  but  a  statesman  fully  capable  of  holding  his 
own,  and  with  no  small  confidence  in  his  own  opin- 
ion; yet  the  glory  of  Venice  is  his  motive  above  all 
others_,  and  the  building  up  of  the  fame  of  the  city 
for  whose  benefit  he  would  die  a  thousand  times,  as 
he  says,  and  for  whose  honor  he  continues  day  after 
day  and  year  after  year  his  endless  and  tardily 
acknowledged  toils.  Would  it  have  damped  his 
zeal,  we  wonder,  could  he  have  foreseen  that  his 
unexampled  work  should  drop  into  oblivion,  after 


398  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

historians  such  as  the  best  informed  of  doges,  Marcc 
Foscarini,  knowing  next  to  nothing  of  him  till  sud- 
denly a  lucky  and  delighted  student  fell  upon  those 
great  volumes  in  the  Austrian  Library ;  and  all  at 
once,  after  three  centuries  and  more,  old  Venice 
sprang  to  light  under  the  hand  of  her  old  chron- 
icler, and  Marino  Sanudo  with  all  his  pictures,  his 
knickknacks,  his  brown  rolls  of  manuscript  and 
dusty  volumes  round  him,  regained,  as  was  his 
right,  the  first  place  among  Venetian  historians — 
one  of  the  most  notable  figures  of  the  mediaeval 
world. 

Sanudo  died  in  1539,  at  the  age  of  seventy- three, 
poor,  as  would  seem  from  his  will,  in  which,  though 
he  has  several  properties  to  bequeath,  he  has  to 
commit  the  payment  of  his  faithful  servants  espe- 
cially a  certain  Anna  of  Padua,  who  had  nursed 
and  cared  for  him  for  twenty  years  ("who  is  much 
my  creditor,  for  1  have  not  had  the  means  to  pay 
her,  though  she  has  never  failed  in  her  service"),  to 
his  executors  as  the  first  thing  to  be  done,  pnmo  et 
mite  ommum,  after  the  sale  of  his  effects.  But  he 
would  seem  to  have  had  anticipations  of  a  satisfac- 
tory conclusion  to  his  affairs,  since  he  orders  foi: 
himself  a  marble  sepulcher,  to  be  erected  in  the 
Church  of  S.  Zaccaria,  with  the  following  inscrip- 
tion: 

Ne  tu  hoc  despice  quod  vides  Sepulchrum 
Seu  sis  advena,  seu  urbanus. 

ossa  sunt  hic  sita 

Marini  Sanuti  Leonardi  filii 

Senatoris  Clarissimi, 

Rerum  Antiquarum  Indagatoris 

Historie  Venetorum  ex  publico  decreto 

Scriptoris  Solertissimi. 

Hoc  voLUi  te  Scire,  nunc  bene  vade. 

Vale. 

Some  time  afterward,  however,  the  old  man,  per- 
haps losing  heart,  finding  his  books  and  his  curiosi- 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  399 

ties  less  thought  of  than  he  had  hoped,  gives  up  the 
marble  sarcophagus  so  dear  to  his  age,  and  bids 
them  bury  him  where  he  falls,  either  at  S.  Zaccaria 
with  his  fathers,  or  at  S.  Francisco  della  Vigna, 
where  his  mother  lies,  he  no  longer  cares  which ; 
but  he  still  clings  to  his  epitaph,  the  eterna  memoria 
with  which  he  had  comforted  himself  through  all  his 
toils.  Alas!  it  has  been  with  his  bodily  remains  as 
for  three  centuries  with  those  of  his  mind  and  spirit. 
No  one  knows  where  the  historian  lies.  His  house, 
with  his  stemma,  the  arms  of  the  Ca'  Sanudo,  still 
stands  in  the  parish  of  S.  Giacomo  dell'  Orio,  behind 
the  Fondaco  dei  Turchi,  an  ancient  house,  once 
divided  into  three  for  the  use  of  the  different 
branches  of  an  important  family,  now  fallen  out  of 
all  knowledge  of  the  race,  and  long  left  without  even 
a  stone  to  commemorate  Marino  Sanudo's  name. 
This  neglect  has  now  been  remedied,  not  by 
Venice,  but  by  the  loving  care  of  Mr.  Rawdon 
Brown,  the  first  interpreter  and  biographer  of  this 
long-foi gotten  name.  The  municipality  of  Venice 
is  fond  of  placing  Laptde  on  every  point  of  vantage, 
but  the  anxious  exhortations  of  our  countryman  did 
not  succeed  in  inducing  the  then  authorities  to  give 
this  tribute  to  their  illustrious  historian. 

Since  that  period,  however,  his  place  in  his  be- 
loved city  has  been  fully  established,  and  it  is  pleas- 
ant to  think  that  it  was  an  Englishman  who  was 
the  first  to  claim  everlasting  remembrance,  the 
reward  which  he  desired  above  all  others,  for  the 
name  of  Marino  Sanudo,  of  all  the  historians  of 
Venice  the  greatest,  the  most  unwearied,  and  the 
best. 


400  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 


CHAPTER  III. 

ALDUS    AND    THE    ALDINES. 

In  the  end  of  the  fifteenth  century,  when  all  the 
arts  were  coming  to  their  climax,  notwithstanding 
the  echoes  of  war  and  contention  that  were  never 
silent,  and  in  the  midst  of  which  the  republic  had 
often  hard  ado  to  hold  her  own,  Venice  suddenly 
became  the  chief  center  of  literary  effort  in  Italy, 
or  we  might  say,  at  that  moment,  in  the  world. 
Her  comparative  seclusion  from  actual  personal 
danger,  defended  as  she  was  like  England  by  some- 
thing much  more  like  a  "silver  streak"  than  our 
stormy  Channel,  had  long  made  the  city  a  haven  of 
peace,  such  as  Petrarch  found  it,  for  men  of  letters ; 
and  the  freedom  of  speech,  of  which  that  poet  ex- 
perienced both  the  good  and  evil,  naturally  at- 
tracted many  to  whom  literary  communion  and 
controversy  were  the  chief  pleasures  in  life.  It  was 
not,  however,  from  any  of  her  native  literati  that 
the  new  impulse  came.  A  certain  Theobaldo 
Manucci,  or  Mannutio— familiarly  addressed,  as  is 
still  common  in  Italy,  as  Messer  or  Ser  Uldo — born 
at  the  little  town  of  Bassiano  near  Rome,  and  con- 
sequently calling  himself,  Romano,  had  been  for 
some  time  connected  with  the  family  of  the  Pii, 
princes  of  Carpi,  as  tutor.  The  dates  are  confused 
and  the  information  uncertain  at  this  period  of  his 
career.  One  of  his  earlier  biographers,  Manni,  in- 
troduces Aldo's  former  pupil  as  a  man  able  to  enter 
into  literary  discussions  and  take  a  part  in  the 
origination  of  great  plans,  whereas  Renouard,  the 
accomplished  author  of  the  "Annales  de  I'lmpri- 
merie  des  Aides,"  speaks  of  Alberto  as  a  boy,  pre- 
cocious, as  was  not  unusual  to  the  time,  but  still  in 
extreme  youth,  when  the  new  turn  was  given  to  his 
preceptor's  thoughts.     The  natural  conclusion  from 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  401 

the  facts  would  be  that,  having  completed  his  edu- 
cational work  at  Carpi,  Aldo  had  gone  to  Ferrara 
to  continue  his  studies  in  Greek,  and  when  driven 
away  by  the  siege  of  that  city  had  taken  refuge 
with  Count  Giovanni  Pico  at  Mirandola,  and  from 
thence,  in  company  with  that  young  and  brilliant 
scholar,  had  returned  to  his  former  home  and  pupil 
— where  there  ensued  much  consultation  and  many 
plans  in  the  intervals  of  the  learned  talk  between 
these  philosophers,  as  to  what  the  poor  man  of  let- 
ters was  now  to  do  for  his  own  living  and  the 
furtherance  of  knowledge  in  Italy.  Probably  the 
want  of  text-books,  the  difficulty  of  obtaining  books 
of  any  kind,  the  incorrectness  of  those  that  could 
be  procured,  the  need  of  grammars,  dictionaries, 
and  all  the  tools  of  learning,  which  would  be  doubly 
apparent  if  the  young  Alberto,  heir  of  the  house, 
was  then  in  the  midst  of  his  education,  led  the  con- 
versation of  the  elders  to  this  subject.  Count  Pico 
was  one  of  the  best  scholars  of  his  time,  very  pre- 
cocious as  a  boy  and  in  his  maturity  still  holding 
learning  to  be  most  excellent  and  Messer  Aldo  was 
well  aware  of  all  the  practical  disadvantages  with 
which  the  acquisition  of  knowledge  was  surrounded, 
having  been  himself  badly  trained  in  the  rules  of 
an  old-fashioned  *'Doctrinale,"  **a  stupid  and 
obscure  book  written  in  barbarous  verse. "  Their 
talk  at  last  would  seem  to  have  culminated  in  a  dis- 
tinct plan.  Aldo  was  no  enterprising  tradesman  or 
speculator  bent  on  money-making.  But  his  educa- 
tional work  would  seem  to  have  been  brought  to  a 
temporary  pause,  and  in  the  learned  leisure  of  the 
little  principality,  in  the  fine  company  of  the 
princely  scholars  who  could  both  understand  and 
help,  some  lurking  desires  and  hopes  no  doubt, 
sprang  into  being.  To  fill  the  world  with  the  best 
of  books,  free  from  the  blemishes  of  incorrect 
transcription,  or  the  print  which  was  scarcely  more 
trustworthy — what  a  fine  occupation,  better  far 
than   the   finest  influence   upon  the  mind  of  one 

26  Venice 


402  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

pupil,  however  illustrious!  The  scheme  would 
grow,  and  one  detail  after  another  would  be  aaded 
in  the  conversation,  which  must  have  become  more 
and  more  interesting  as  this  now  exciting  project 
shaped  itself.  We  can  hardly  imagine  that  the 
noble  house  in  which  the  schenie  originated,  and 
the  brilliant  visitor  under  whose  auspices  it  was 
formed,  did  not  promise  substantial  aid  in  an  un- 
dertaking which  the  learned  tutor  had  naturally  no 
power  of  carrying  out  by  himself;  and  when  all  the 
other  preliminaries  were  settled,  Venice  was  fixed 
upon  as  the  fit  place  for  the  enterprise.  Pico  was 
a  Florentine,  Aldo  a  Roman,  but  there  seems  to 
have  existed  no  doubt  in  their  minds  as  to  the  best 
center  for  this  great  scheme. 

The  date  of  Aldo's  settlement  in  Venice  is  un- 
certain, like  many  other  facts  in  this  obscure  be- 
ginning. His  first  publication  appeared  in  1494, 
and  it  was  in  1482  that  he  left  Ferrara  to  take  shel- 
ter in  the  house  of  the  Pii.  It  would  seem  probable 
that  he  reached  Venice  soon  after  the  later  date, 
since,  in  his  applications  to  the  Senate  for  the  ex- 
clusive use  of  certain  forms  of  type,  he  describes 
himself  as  for  many  years  an  inhabitant  of  the  city, 
Manni  concludes  that  he  must  have  been  there 
toward  1488,  or  rather  that  his  preparations  for  the 
establishment  of  his  Stamperia  originated  about 
that  time.  He  did  not,  however,  begin  at  once  with 
this  project,  but  established  himself  in  Venice  as  a 
reader  or  lecturer  on  the  classical  tongues;  **read- 
ing  and  interpreting  in  public  for  the  benefit  of  the 
noble  and  studious  youth  of  the  city  the  most 
renowned  Greek  and  Latin  writers,  collating  and 
correcting  those  manuscripts  which  it  was  his  inten- 
tion to  print."  He  drew  around  him,  while  en- 
gaged in  this  course  of  literature,  all  that  was 
learned  in  Venice.  Senators,  students,  priests, 
whoever  loved  learning,  were  attracted  by  his 
already  well  known  fame  as  a  fine  scholar,  and  by 
the  report  of  the  still  greater  undertaking  on  which 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  403 

he  was  bent  when  a  favorable  moment  should 
arise.  No  doubt  Aldo  had  been  furnished  by  his 
patrons  with  the  best  of  introductions,  and  friends 
and  brethren  flocked  about  him,  so  many  that  they 
formed  themselves  into  a  distinct  society — the 
Neacademia  of  Aldo — a  collection  of  eager  scholars, 
all  ready  to  help,  all  conscious  of  the  great  need, 
and  what  we  should  call  in  modern  parlance  the 
wonderful  opening  for  a  great  and  successful  effort. 
Sabellico,  the  learned  and  eloquent  historian,  with 
whose  new  work  Venice  was  ringing;  Sanudo,  our 
beloved  chronicler,  then  beginning  his  life-long 
work:  Bembo,  the  future  cardinal,  already  one  of 
the  fashionable  semi-priests  of  society,  holding  a 
canonicate ;  the  future  historian  who  wrote  no  his- 
tory, Andrea  Navagero,  but  he  in  his  very  earliest 
youth ;  another  cardinal,  Leandro,  then  a  barefooted 
friar;  all  crowed  about  the  new  classical  teacher. 
The  enthusiasm  with  which  he  was  received  seems 
to  have  exceeded  even  the  ordinary  welcome  ac- 
corded in  that  age  of  literary  freemasonry  to  every 
man  who  had  any  new  light  to  throw  upon  the 
problems  of  knowledge.  And  while  he  expounded 
and  instructed,  the  work  of  preparation  for  still  more 
important  labors  went  on.  It  is  evident  that  he 
made  himself  full  known,  and  even  became  an 
object  of  general  curiosity;  one  of  the  personages 
to  be  visited  by  all  that  were  on  the  surface  of 
Venetian  society,  and  that  the  whole  ot  Venice  was 
interested  and  entertained  by  the  idea  of  the  new 
undertaking.  Foreign  printers  had  already  made 
Venice  the  scene  of  their  operations,  the  English- 
man Jenson  and  the  Teutons  from  Spires  having 
begun  twenty  or  thirty  years  before  to  print 
Venezia  on  the  title-pages  of  their  less  ambitious 
volumes.  But  Aldo  was  no  mere  printer,  nor  was 
his  work  for  profit  alone.  It  was  a  labor  of  love, 
an  enterprise  of  the  highest  public  importance,  and 
as  such  commended  itself  to  all  who  cared  for  edu- 
cation or  the  humanities,  or  who  had  any  desire  to 


404  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

be  considered  as  members  or  disciples  of  that 
highest  and  most  cultured  class  of  men  of  letters, 
who  were  the  pride  and  glory  of  the  age. 

The  house  of  Aldus  is  still  to  be  seen  in  the  cor- 
ner of  the  Campo  di  San  Agostino,  not  far  from  the 
beautiful  Scuola  di  S.  Giovanni  Evangelista, 
which  every  stranger  visits.  It  was  a  spot  already 
remarkable  in  the  history  of  Venice,  though  the 
ruins  of  the  house  of  that  great  Cavaliere,  Baja- 
monte  Tiepole,  must  have  disappeared  before  Aldus 
brought  his  peaceful  trade  to  this  retired  and  quiet 
place — tar  enough  off  from  the  centers  of  Venetian 
life  to  be  left  in  peace,  one  would  have  thought. 
But  that  this  was  not  the  case,  and  that  his  house 
was  already  a  great  center  of  common  interest,  is 
evident  from  one  of  the  dedicatory  epistles  to  an 
early  work  addressed  to  Andrea  Navagero,  in  which 
Aldus  complains  with  humorous  seriousness  of  the 
many  interruptions  from  troublesome  visitors  or 
correspondents  to  which  he  was  subject.  Letters 
from  learned  men,  he  says,  arrive  in  such  multi- 
tudes that,  were  he  to  answer  them  all,  it  would 
occupy  him  night  and  day.  Still  more  importunate 
were  those  who  came  to  see  him,  to  inquire  into 
his  work: 

Some  from  friendship,  some  from  interest,  the  greater  part 
because  they  have  nothing  to  do — for  then  "Let  us  go,"  they 
say,  "to  Aldo's."     They  come  in  crowds  and  sit  gaping: 

"Non  missura  cutem,  nisi  plena  cruoris  hirudo." 

1  do  not  speak  of  those  who  come  to  read  to  me  either 
poems  or  prose,  generally  rough  and  unpolished,  for  publica- 
tion, for  I  defend  myself  from  these  by  giving  no  answer  or 
else  a  very  brief  one,  which  I  hope  nobody  will  take  in  ill 
part,  since  it  is  done,  not  from  pride  or  scorn,  but  because  all 
my  leisure  is  taken  up  in  printing  books  of  established  fame. 
As  for  those  who  come  for  no  reason,  we  make  bold  to 
admonish  them  in  classical  words  in  a  sort  of  edict  placed 
over  our  door:  "Whoever  you  are,  Aldo  requests  you,  if  you 
want  anything,  ask  it  in  few  words  and  depart,  unless,  like 
Hercules,  you  come  to  lend  the  aid  of  your  shoulders  to  the 
weary  Atlas.  Here  will  always  be  found  in  that  case  some- 
thing for  you  to  do,  however  many  you  ^ay  be." 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  405 

This  affords  us  a  whimsical  picture  of  one  of  the 
commonest  grievances  of  busy  persons,  especially 
in  literature.  No  doubt  the  idlers  who  said  to  each 
other  "Let  us  go  to  Aldo's"  considered  themselves 
to  be  showing  honor  to  literature,  as  well  as  estab- 
lishing their  own  right  to  consideration,  when  they 
went  all  that  long  way  from  the  gayeties  of  the 
Piazza  or  the  livel)^  bottegas  and  animation  of  the 
Rialto  to  the  busy  workshops  in  the  retired  and  dis- 
tant Campo,  where  it  might  be  their  fortune  to  rub 
shoulders  with  young  Bembo  steeped  in  Greek,  or 
get  into  the  way  of  Sanudo,  or  be  told  sharply  to 
ask  no  questions  by  Aldo  himself;  let  us  hope  they 
were  eventually  frightened  off  by  the  writing  over 
the  door.  The  suggestion,  however,  that  they 
should  help  in  the  work  was  no  form  of  speech,  for 
Aldo's  companions  and  friends  not  only  surrounded 
him  with  sympathy  and  intelligent  encouragement, 
but  diligently  worked  with  him ;  giving  him  the 
benefit  of  their  varied  studies  and  critical  experience 
— collating  manuscripts  and  revising  proofs  with  a 
patience  and  continuous  labor  of  which  the  modern 
printer,  even  in  face  of  the  most  illegible  "copy," 
could  form  no  idea.  For  the  manuscripts  from 
which  they  printed  were  in  almost  all  instances  in- 
correct and  often  imperfect,  and  to  develop  a  pure 
text  from  the  careless  or  fragmentary  transcripts 
which  had  perhaps  come  mechanically  through  the 
hands  of  ignorant  scribes — taking  from  each  what 
was  best,  and  filling  up  the  gaps — was  a  work  which 
required  great  caution  and  patience,  as  well  as  in- 
telligence and  some  critical  power. 

The  first  work  published  by  Aldus,  true  to  his 
original  purpose,  was  the  Greek  grammar  of  Con- 
stantino Lascaris,  conveyed  to  him,  as  he  states  in 
his  preface,  by  Bembo  and  another  young  man  of 
family  and  culture,   "now    studying    at    Padua." 

Bembo,  it  is  well  known,  had  spent  several  years 
in  Sicily  with  Lascaris  studying  Greek,  so  that  it 
would  seem  natural  that  he  should  be  the  means  of 


406  tHE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

communication  between  the  author  and  publisher. 
This  is  the  first  work  with  a  date,  according  to  the 
careful  Renouard,  which  came  from  the  new  press. 
A  small  volume  of  poetry,  but  without  date,  the 
"Musaeus, '*  competes  with  this  book  for  the  honor 
of  being  the  first  published  by  Aldus ;  but  it  would 
not  seem  very  easy  to  settle  the  question,  and  the 
reader  v/ill  not  expect  any  bibliographical  details  in 
this  place.  The  work  went  on  slowly;  the  first  two 
years  producing  only  five  books,  one  of  which  was 
Aristotle — the  first  edition  ever  attempted  in  the 
original  Greek.  In  this  great  undertaking  Aldus 
had  the  assistance  of  two  editors,  Alexander  Bon^ 
dino  and  Scipione  Fortiguerra,  scholars  well  known 
in  their  time,  one  calling  himself  Agathemeron,  the 
other  Carteromaco,  according  to  their  fantastic 
fashion,  and  both  now  entirely  unknown  by  either 
apellation.  It  was  dedicated  to  Alberto  Pio  of 
Carpi,  the  young  prince  with  whom  and  whose  train- 
ing the  new  enterprise  was  so  much  connected.  It 
is  not  to  be  supposed  that  publishing  of  this  elabo- 
rate kind,  so  slow,  so  elaborately  revised,  so  difficult 
to  produce,  could  have  paid  even  its  own  expenses, 
at  least  at  the  beginning.  It  is  true  that  the 
printer  had  a  monopoly  of  the  Greek,  which  he  was 
the  first  to  introduce  to  the  world.  No  competing 
editions  pressed"  his  Aristotle;  he  had  the  lim- 
ited yet  tolerably  extensive  market — for  this  new 
and  splendid .  work  would  be  emphatically,  in  the 
climax  of  Renaissance  enthusiasm  and  ambition, 
one  which  no  prince  who  respected  himself,  no  car- 
dinal given  to  letters,  or  noble  dilettante  could  be 
content  without — in  his  own  hands.  And  the  poor 
scholars  who  worked  in  his  studio,  some  of  them 
lodging  under  his  roof,  with  itistancabili  co7ifro7ih  de^ 
codici  miglion,  collation  of  innumerable  manuscripts 
according  to  the  careful  "judgment  of  the  best  men 
in  the  city,  accomplished  not  only  in  both  the  clas- 
sical languages  but  in  the  soundest  erudition" — 
would  probably  have   but  small  pay  for  their  labo- 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  iOl 

rious  toila  But  under  the  most  favorable  circum- 
stances the  aid  of  his  wealthy  patrons  was,  no 
doubt,  indispensable  to  Aldo  in  the  beginning  of 
his  career. 

Nor  was  the  costly  work  of  editing  his  only  ex- 
pense. From  the  time  when  the  scholar  took  up 
the  new  trade  of  printer,  it  is  evident  that  a  new 
ambition  rose  within  him ;  not  only  the  best  text, 
but  the  best  type  occupied  his  mind.  The  Lasca- 
ris,  Renouard  tells  us,  was  printed  in  ''caractere 
Latin  un  peu  bizarre'' — of  which  scarcely  any  further 
use  was  made  For  some  time  indeed  each  succes- 
sive volume  would  seem  to  have  been  printed  in 
another  and  another  form  of  type,  successive  essays 
to  find  the  best;  which  is  another  proof  of  the 
anxiety  of  Aldus  that  his  work  should  be  perfect. 
Not  content  with  ordinary  Roman  character  with 
which  Jenson  in  Venice  and  the  other  printers  had 
already  found  relief  from  the  ponderous  dignity  of 
the  Black  Letter,  he  set  himself  to  invent  a  new 
type.  The  tradition  is  that  the  elegant  handwriting 
of  Petrarch,  so  fine  and  clear,  was  the  model  chosen 
for  this  invention,  which  was  received  with  enthu- 
siasm at  the  moment.  It  was  founded  by  Francesco 
of  Bologna,  and  called  at  first  Aldino,  after  its  inven- 
tor, and  then  Italic.  No  one  who  knows  or  pos- 
sesses books  in  this  graceful  and  beautiful  type  will 
doubt  that  it  is  the  prettiest  of  all  print ;  but  after 
a  little  study  of  these  beautiful  pages,  without  the 
break  of  relief  or  a  single  paragraph,  all  flowing  on 
line  after  line,  the  reader  will  probably  succumb 
halt  blinded  and  wholly  confused,  and  return  with 
pleasure  to  the  honest  everyday  letters,  round  and 
simple,  of  the  Roman  type.  A  copy  of  the  '*Corti- 
giano,"  one  of  the  best  known  of  old  Italian  books, 
lies  before  us  at  this  moment,  with  the  delicate 
Aldine  mark,  the  anchor  and  dolphin,  on  the  title- 
page.  Nothing  could  be  more  appropriate  to  the 
long,  unending  dialogue  and  delightful,  artificial 
flow  of   superfine  sentiment  and  courtly   talk,  than 


408  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

the  charming  minute  and  graceful  run  of  the  letters, 
corsivo,  like  a  piece  of  the  most  beautiful  penman- 
ship. No  reader  could  possibly  wish  to  read  the 
"Cortigiano"  straight  through,  at  one  or  a  dozen 
readings;  but  were  the  subject  one  of  livelier  inter- 
est, or  its  appeal  to  the  heart  or  intellect  a  deeper 
one,  the  head  would  soon  ache  and  the  eyes  swim 
over  those  delightful  pages.  In  the  enthusiasm  of 
invention  Aldus  himself  describes  his  new  type  as 
''of  the  greatest  beauty,  such  as  was  never  done 
before,"  and  appeals  to  the  Signoria  of  Venice  to 
secure  to  him  for  ten  years  the  sole  right  to  use  it 
— kindly  indicating  to  the  authorities,  at  the  same 
time,  the  penalty  which  he  would  like  to  see 
attached  to  any  breach  of  the  privilege. 

I  supplicate  that  for  ten  years  no  other  should  be  allowed  to 
print  in  cursive  letters  of  any  sort  in  the  dominion  of  your 
Serenity,  nor  to  sell  books  printed  in  other  countries  in  any 
part  of  the  said  dominion,  under  pain  to  whoever  breaks  this 
law  of  forfeiting  the  books  and  paying  a  fine  of  two  hundred 
ducats  for  each  offense ;  which  fine  shall  be  divided  into  three 
parts,  one  for  the  officer  who  shall  convict,  another  for  the 
Pieta,  the  third  for  the  informer ;  and  that  the  accusation  be 
made  before  any  officer  of  this  most  excellent  city  before 
whom  the  informer  may  appear. 

Aldus  secured  his  privilege  from  a  committee  (if 
we  may  use  so  modern  a  word)  of  councillors,  among 
whom  is  found  the  name  of  Sanudo,  cousin  of  our 
Marino,  who  himself,  according  to  a  note  in  his 
diary,  seems  to  have  prepared  the  necessary  decree. 
But  the  essential  over-delicacy  of  the  type  was  its 
destruction.  It  continued  in  use  for  a  number  of 
years,  during  which  many  books  were  printed  in  it: 
but  after  that  period  dropped  into  the  occasional 
usage  for  emphasis  or  distinction  which  we  still  re- 
tain— though  our  modern  Italics,  no  doubt  the  natu- 
ral successors  and  descendants  of  the  invention  of 
Aldus,  are  much  more  common  place  and  not  nearly 
so  beautiful. 

It  is  pretty  to  know,  however,  that  the  first 
Italian  book  published  in  this  romantic  and  charm- 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  409 

ing  form  was  the  poems  of  Petrarch,  "Le  Cose  Vol- 
gari  di  Messer  Francescoo  Petrarcha,"  edited  with 
great  care  by  Bembo,  "who,"  writes  a  gentleman 
of  Pavia  to  the  illustrious  lady,  Isabella,  Duchess  of 
Mantua,  "has  printed  the  Petrarch  from  a  copy 
of  the  verses  written  in  Petrarch's  own  hand, 
which  I  have  held  in  mine,  and  which  belongs  to  a 
Paduan.  It  is  esteemed  so  much  that  it  has  been 
followed  letter  by  letter  in  the  printing,  with  the 
greatest  diligence."  The  book  is  described  on  the 
title-page  as  "taken  from  the  handwriting  of  the 
Poet,"  and  not  only  the  year  but  the  month  of  the 
date,  July,  1501,  carefully  given.  Renouard  tells  a 
charming  story  of  a  copy  he  had  seen,  inscribed 
from  one  fond  possessor  to  another,  through  three 
or  four  inheritances,  avec  une  sorte  didolatne^  and 
which  contained  at  the  end  a  sonnet  in  the  hand- 
writing of  Pietro  Bembo: 

"Se  come  qui  la  fronte    onesta  e  grave 
Del  sacro  alrao  Poeta 
Che  d'un  bel  Lauro  colse  eterna  palma 
Cosi  vedessi  ancor  lo  spirto  e  I'alma 
Stella  si  chiara  e  lieta, 
Diresti,  certo  11  ciel  tutto  non  ave. 

"Tu  chevieni  a  mirar  1' onesta  e  grave 
Sembianza  dei  divin  nostro  Poeta, 
Pensa,  s'in  questa  il  tuo  desio  s'acqueta, 
Quanto  fu  il  veder  lui  dolce  e  soave, 

Lorenzo  of  Pavia  (the  same  man  apparently  who 
visited  Carpaccio  on  behalf  of  Gonzaga,  the  hus- 
band of  Isabella,  and  saw  that  painter's  picture  of 
Jerusalem)  secured  a  copy  of  this  true  amateur's 
book,  printed  with  such  love  and  care  "on  good 
paper,  very  clear  and  white  and  equal,  not  thick  in 
one  part  and  thin  in  another,  as  are  so  many  of 
those  you  have  in  Mantua,"  as  a  "rare  thing,  which 
like  your  Ladyship,  has  no  paragon,"  for  Duchess 
Isabella. 

After  this  fine  beginning,  however,  there  followed 
darker  days.     In  1506  Aldus  had  to  l^ave  Venice  to 


410  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

look  after  properties  lost  or  in  danger;  a  troubled 
enterprise  which  he  sweetened  as  he  could  by  his 
usual  search  after  manuscripts  and  classical  infor- 
mation. In  the  month  of  July  of  that  year  an  acci- 
dent happened  to  him  which  affords  us  an  interest- 
ing glimpse  of  the  scholar-publisher.  He  was  riding 
along  with  his  servant,  who  was  a  Mantuan,  but  un- 
der sentence  of  banishment  from  the  princedom, 
returning  to  Asola,  where  his  family  were,  from  a 
prolonged  journey  through  Lombardy.  The  pair 
rode  along  quietly  enough,  though  there  were  fight- 
ings going  on  round  about — in  short  stages,  ever 
ready  to  turn  aside  to  convent  or  castle  where  co- 
dexes  might  be  found,  or  where  there  was  some 
learned  chaplain  or  studious  friar  who  had  opinions 
on  the  subject  of  Aristotle  or  Vergil  to  be  consulted 
— when  suddenly,  as  they  crossed  the  Mantuan  fron- 
tier, the  guards,  who  had  been  set  to  watch  for  cer- 
tain suspected  persons,  started  forth  to  seize  the 
passengers.  The  servant,  terrified,  fled,  thinking 
that  he  was  the  object  of  their  suspicions,  and  his 
master  was  seized  and  made  prisoner,  his  precious 
papers  taken  from  him,  and  himself  shut  up  in  the 
house  of  the  official  who  had  arrested  him.  Aldus 
immediately  wrote  to  the  Prince  of  Mantua,  him 
self  an  amateur  of  the  arts,  stating  his  hard  case. 
His  servant's  foolish  flight  had  aroused  all  manner 
of  suspicions,  and  perhaps  the  old  manuscripts 
which  formed  his  baggage  strengthened  the  doubts 
with  which  he  was  regarded.  He  writes  thus  with 
modest  dignity,  explaining  his  position: 

I  am  Aldo  Manutio  Romano,  privileged  to  call  myself  of 
the  family  of  the  Pii  by  my  patron  Alberto  of  Carpi,  who  is 
the  son-in-law  of  your  illustrious  Highness — and  am  and  have 
always  been  your  humble  servant,  as  is  my  lord  whom  I  natu- 
rally follow.  At  present,  in  consequence  of  my  undertaking 
as  a  printer  of  books,  I  dwell  in  Venice.  Desiring  to  print 
the  works  of  Vergil,  which  hitherto  have  been  very  imperfectly 
rendered,  correctly  and  according  to  the  best  texts,  I  have 
sought  through  all  Italy  and  beyond ;  and  in  person  I  have 
gone  over  almost  all  Lombardy  to  look  for  any  manuscripts  of 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  411 

these  works  that  may  be  found.  On  my  way  back  to  Venice, 
passing  by  your  Highness'  villa  at  Casa  Romana,  and  having 
with  me  Federico  de  Ceresara,  my  servant,  who  is  a  native  of 
and  banished  from  these  parts,  he  took  fright  when  your 
Highness*  guards  seized  his  bridle,  and,  striking  his  horse  with 
his  feet,  fled  outside  the  boundaries  of  your  Highness'  terri- 
tory. Having  got  to  the  other  side  of  the  frontier  he  sent  back 
his  horse ;  for  which  cause  I  am  detained  here  with  my  horses 
and  goods,  both  those  which  my  servant  carried  and  those 
which  I  myself  had.  And  this  is  the  third  day  that  I  am  de- 
tained here,  to  the  great  injury  of  my  business,  and  I  entreat 
your  Highness  to  be  pleased  to  command  Messer  Joanpetro 
Moraro,  in  whose  house  I  am,  to  permit  me  to  proceed  upon 
my  journey,  and  to  restore  to  me  my  horses  and  my  goods. 
As  I  am  illustrating  the  works  of  Vergil,  who  was  a  Mantuan, 
it  appears  to  me  that  I  do  not  deserve  evil  treatment  in  Man- 
tua, but  rather  to  be  protected. 

Two  days  after  Aldus  was  compelled  to  write 
again,  having  received  no  answer;  but  on  the  25th 
of  July,  when  his  detention  had  lasted  a  week,  he 
was  liberated  with  Gonzaga's  apologies  and  excuses. 
He  did  not  like  the  incident,  complaining  bitterly 
of  the  shame  of  being  incarcerated;  but  it  forms  an 
interesting  illustration  in  history  to  see  him,  with 
all  his  precious  papers  in  his  saddle-bags,  and  his 
consciousness  of  a  name  as  well  known  as  their  mas- 
ter's, answering  the  interrogatories  of  the  guards, 
appealing  to  the  prince,  who  could  not  mistake, 
though  these  ignorant  men-at-arms  might  do  so, 
who  Aldo  Manutio  was. 

Among  the  various  assistants  whom  Aldus  em- 
ployed during  these  first  busy  years,  and  whom  his 
biographer,  Manni,  calls  corretton  delta  Stampena, 
figured  among  others,  a  man  more  illustrious  than 
any  yet  mentioned — Erasmus  of  Rotterdam,  uoino 
d  ampca  e  spaziosa  fama.  It  is  said  that  Erasmus 
wrote  from  Bologna  to  propose  for  publication  his 
collection  of  "Adages,"  a  proposal  which  was  re- 
ceived eagerly  by  Aldus;  but  when  the  philosopher 
came  to  Venice,  he  shared  at  first  the  fate  of  those 
unfortunates  who  were  warned  by  the  placard  over 
the  door  of  the  Stamperia  to  state  their  business 
quickly  and  be  gone.     When  Aldus  knew,  however, 


412  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

who  his  visitor  was  he  hurried  from  his  workshop 
and  his  proofs  to  receive  with  honor  a  guest  so  wel- 
come. The  Dutchman  would  seem  to  have  entered 
his  house  at  once  as  one  of  his  recognized  assist- 
ants. The  famous  Scaliger,  in  a  philippic  directed 
against  Erasmus,  declares  that,  when  he  found  ref- 
uge there,  he  ate  for  three  and  drank  for  many 
without  doing  the  work  of  one;  but  such  amenities 
are  not  unknown  among  scholars  any  more  than 
among  the  ignorant.  Perhaps  the  heavier  Teuton 
always  seems  to  exceed  in  these  respects  amid  the 
spare  living  and  abstemious  sobriety  of  Italians. 
Erasmus  himself  allows  that  after  the  publication 
of  his  "Proverbs"  he  had  worked  with  Aldus  on  the 
comedies  of  Terence  and  Plautus  and  the  tragedies 
of  Seneca — not  the  loftiest  perhaps,  of  classical 
works — "in  which,"  he  says,  *'I  think  that  I  have 
happily  restored  some  passages  with  the  support  of 
ancient  manuscripts.  We  left  them  with  Aldus," 
he  adds,  "leaving  to  his  judgment  the  question  of 
publication."  This  work  never  seems  to  have  been 
published  by  the  elder  Aldus,  so  that  perhaps  Eras- 
mus' indignant  denial  afterward  of  ever  having 
done  any  work  of  correction,  except  upon  his  own 
book,  may  after  all  be  reconcilable  with  the  above 
statements. 

The  busy  house  on  its  quiet  Campo,  with  all  the 
bustle  of  Venice  distant — not  even  the  measured 
beat  of  the  oars  on  the  canal,  most  familiar  of  sounds, 
to  disturb  the  retired  and  tranquil  square ;  but  all 
the  hum  of  incessant  work  within,  the  scholars  with- 
drawn in  silent  chambers  out  of  the  way  of  the 
printing  presses,  poring  over  their  manuscripts, 
straining  after  a  better  reading,  a  corrected  phrase, 
with  proofs  sent  from  one  to  another,  and  the  master 
most  busy  of  all,  giving  his  attention  now  to  a  new 
form,  now  to  an  old  manuscript — how  strange  a  con- 
trast it  offers  to  the  gay  and  animated  life,  the 
intrigues,  the  struggles,  the  emulations,  outside! 
No  doubt  the  Stamperia  had  its  conflict  too.     Ser 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  41^ 

Merino,  stepping  round  in  his  senator's  robes  from 
the  Ca*  Sanudo  not  far  off,  would  not  meet  perhaps 
without  a  gibe  the  youngster  Navagero,  who  had 
been  named  to  the  post  of  historian  over  his  head ; 
nor  could  the  poor  Italian  scholars  refrain  from 
remarks  upon  the  big  appetite  and  slow  movements 
of  that  Dutch  Erasmus,  whose  reputation  has  proved 
so  much  more  stable  than  their  own.  But  these 
jealousies  are  small  in  comparison  with  the  struggles 
of  the  council  chamber,  the  secret  tribunals,  the 
betrayals,  the  feuds  and  frays  that  went  on  every- 
where around  them.  When  the  Neacademia  met 
upon  its  appointed  days,  and  the  learned  heads  were 
laid  together,  and  the  talk  was  all  of  Vergil  and 
Ovid,  of  Plato  and  Aristotle,  how  full  of  an  inspir- 
ing seUvSe  of  virtue  and  work  that  was  for  the  world 
was  that  grave  assembly!  When  Aldus  wrote  his 
preface  to  the  grammar  of  Lascaris,  which  was  his 
first  publication,  he  declares  himself  to  have  deter- 
mined to  devote  his  life  to  the  good  of  mankind,  for 
which  great  end,  though  he  might  live  a  life  much 
more  congenial  to  him  in  retirement,  he  had  chosen 
a  laborious  career.  They  were  all  inspired  with 
the  same  spirit,  and  toiled  over  obscure  readings 
and  much-corrected  proofs  with  the  zeal  of  mis- 
sionaries, bringing  new  life  and  light  to  the  dark 
place.  *' Everything  is  good  in  these  books, "  says 
the  French  critic  Renouard.  "Not  only  for  their 
literary  merit,  most  of  them  being  the  greatest  of 
human  works,  but  also  in  the  point  of  view  ot 
typographical  excellence,  they  are  unsurpassed." 
Neither  rival  nor  imitator  has  reached  the  same 
height — even  his  sons  and  successors,  though  with 
the  aid  of  continually  improving  processes,  never 
attained  the  excellence  of  Aldo  tl  Vecchso,  the  scholar- 
printer,  the  first  to  devote  himself  to  the  production 
of  the  best  books  in  the  best  way;  not  as  a  mercan- 
tile speculation,  but  with  the  devout  intention  of 
serving  the  world's  ^  est  interests,  as  well  as  follow- 


4i4  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

ing  his  own  cherished  tastes  and  working  out  the 
chosen  plan  of  his  life. 

It  is  one  remarkable  siorn  of  the  universal  depres- 
sion and  misery  that  Aldus  and  his  studio  and  all 
his  precious  manuscripts  disappeared  during  the 
troubled  years  of  the  great  Continental  war  in 
which  all  the  world  was  against  Venice.  In  15  lo, 
1511,  and  1512,  scarcely  any  book  proceeded  from 
his  press.  The  painters  went  on  with  their  work, 
and  notwithstanding  the  misery  and  fear  in  the  city 
the  statesmen,  councillors,  all  public  officials,  were 
more  active  and  occupied  than  ever.  Had  Venice 
possessed  a  great  poet,  he  would  not  in  all  proba- 
bility have  been  put  to  silence  even  by  the  terrible 
and  unaccustomed  distant  roar  upon  the  mainland 
of  the  guns.  But  the  close  and  minute  labors  of 
the  literary  corrector  and  critic  were  not  compatible 
with  these  horrible  disturbances.  Even  in  the 
height  of  the  Rennaissance  men  were  indifferent  to 
fine  Latin  and  fine  Greek  and  the  most  lovely  vari- 
eties of  type  in  the  vehemence  of  a  national  struggle 
for  life. 

After  the  war  Aldus  returned  to  his  work  with 
renewed  fervor. 

It  is  difficult  [says  Renouard]  to  form  an  idea  of  the  passion 
with  which  he  devoted  himself  to  the  reproduction  of  the 
great  works  of  ancient  literature.  If  he  heard  of  the  existence 
anywhere  of  a  manuscript  unpublished,  or  which  could  throw 
a  light  upon  an  existing  text,  he  never  rested  till  he  had  it  it 
in  his  possession.  He  did  not  shrink  from  long  journeys, 
great  expenditure,  applications  of  all  kinds;  and  he  had 
also  the  satisfaction  to  see  that  on  all  sides  people  bestirred 
themselves  to  help  him,  communicating  to  him,  some  freely, 
some  for  money,  an  innumerable  amount  of  precious  manu- 
scripts for  the  advantage  of  his  work.  Some  were  even  sent 
to  him  from  very  distant  countries,  from  Poland  and  Hun- 
gary, without  any  solicitation  on  his  part. 

It  is  not  in  this  way,  however,  that  the  publisher, 
that  much-questioned  and  severely  criticised  mid- 
dleman, makes  a  fortune.  And  Aldus  died  poor. 
His  privileges  did  not  stand  him  in  much  stead; 
copyright,  especially,  when  not  in  books  but  in  new 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  415 

forms  of  type,  being  non-existent  in  his  day.  In 
France  and  Germany,  and  still  nearer  home,  his 
beauriful  Italic  was  robbed  from  him,  copied  on  all 
sides;  notwithstanding  the  protection  granted  by 
the  Pope  and  other  princes,  as  well  as  by  the  Vene- 
tian Signoria.  His  fine  editions  were  printed  from 
and  made  the  foundation  of  foreign  issues  which 
replaced  his  own.  How  far  his  princely  patrons 
stood  by  him  to  repair  his  losses  there  seems  no  in- 
formation. His  father-in-law,  Andrea  of  Asola,  a 
printer  who  was  not  so  fine  a  scholar,  but  perhaps 
more  able  to  cope  with  the  world,  did  come  to  his 
aid,  and  his  son  Paolo  Manutio,  and  his  grandson 
Aldo  tl  Giovane^  as  he  is  called,  succeeded  him  in 
turn;  the  first  with  kindred  ambition  and  aim  at  ex- 
cellence, the  latter  perhaps  with  aims  not  quite  so 
high.  We  cannot  further  follow  the  fortunes  of 
the  family,  nor  of  the  highly  cultured  society  of 
which  their  workshops  formed  the  center.  Let  us 
leave  Aldo  with  all  his  aids  about  him,  the  senators, 
the  schoolmasters,  the  poor  scholars,  the  learned 
men  who  were  to  live  to  be  cardinals,  and  those  who 
were  to  die  as  poor  as  they  were  famous;  and  his 
learned  Greek  Musurus,  and  his  poor  student  from 
Rotterdam,  a  better  scholar  perhaps  than  any  of 
them — and  all  his  idle  visitors  coming  to  gape  and 
admire,  while  our  Sanudo  swept  round  the  corner 
from  S.  Giacomo  dell'  Orio,  with  his  vigorous  step 
and  his  toga  over  his  shoulders,  and  the  young  men 
who  were  of  the  younger  faction  came  in,  a  little 
contemptuous  of  their  elders  and  strong  in  their  own 
learning,  to  the  meeting  of  the  Aldine  academy 
and  the  consultation  on  new  readings.  The  Stam- 
peria  was  as  distinct  a  center  of  life  as  the  Piazza, 
though  not  so  apparent  before  the  eyes  of  men. 

Literature  ran  into  a  hundred  more  or  less  artifi- 
cial channels  in  the  Venice  of  the  later  centuries; 
it  produced  countless  works  upon  the  antiquities  of 
the  city,  often  more  valuable  than  interesting;  it 
brightened  into  the  laughter,  the  quips  and  quirks 


4i6  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

of  Goldoni;  it  produced  charming  verses,  pastorals, 
descriptions  of  pageants  and  feasts;  but  never  has 
risen  into  any  of  the  splendor  which  is  the  dower  of 
the  neighbor  republic,  the  proud  and  grave  Tuscan 
city.  The  finest  of  literary  memories  for  Venice  is 
that  of  the  Aldine  Stamperia,  where  for  once  there 
was  a  printer-publisher  who  toiled  and  spent  his 
life  to  fill  the  world  with  beautiful  books,  and  hold 
open  to  all  men  the  gates  of  learning— •'*  all  for  love 
and  nothing  for  reward." 

I  had  hoped  to  have  introduced  as  the  last  in  this 
little  gallery  of  Venetians  a  personage  more  grave 
and  great,  a  figure  unique  in  the  midst  of  this  ever- 
animated,  strong,  stormy,  and  restless  race.  He 
should  have  stood  in  his  monastic  robe,  the  Theolo- 
gian of  Venice;  he  too,  like  every  other  of  her  sons, 
for  his  city  against  every  power,  even  those  of 
Church  and  Pope.  But  Fra  Paolo  is  too  great  to 
come  in  at  the  end  without  due  space  and  perspec- 
tive about  him.  The  priest  was  forestalled  with  his 
quick-flashing  genius  half  the  discoveries  of  his  time ; 
who  guessed  what  it  meant  when  the  golden  lamp 
with  its  red  glimmer  swayed  as  it  hung  in  the 
splendid  gloom  of  San  Marco,  before  ever  Galileo 
had  put  that  heresy  forth;  who  divined  how  the 
blood  made  its  way  through  our  veins  before  Har- 
vey; who  could  plan  a  palace  and  sway  a  senate,  as 
well  as  defy  a  Pope;  who  was  adored  by  his  order 
and  worshiped  by  his  city,  yet  almost  murdered  at 
his  own  door,  is  perhaps  of  all  Venetians  the  one 
most  worthy  of  study  and  elucidation.  It  is  only 
natural,  according  to  the  common  course  of  human 
events,  that  he  should  therefore  be  left  out.  The 
convent  of  Fra  Paolo  lies  in  ruins;  his  grave,  just 
over  the  threshold  of  that  funeral  place,  is  shown 
with  a  grudge  by  the  friar  at  San  Michele,  who 
probably  knows  little  of  him  save  that  he  was  in 
opposition  to  the  Holy  See.  To  us  at  the  present 
moment,  as  to  so  many  in  his  city,  Fra  Paolo  must 
continue  to  be  only  a  name. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  417 

The  critics  of  recent  days  have  had  much  to  say 
as  to  the  deterioration  of  Venice  in  her  new  activity, 
and  the  introduction  of  alien  modernisms  in  the 
shape  of  steamboats  and  other  new  industrial 
agents  into  her  canals  and  lagoons.  But  in  this 
adoption  of  every  new  development  of  power  Venice 
is  only  proving  herself  the  most  faithful  representa- 
tive of  the  vigorous  republic  of  old.  Whatever  preju- 
dice or  even  angry  love  may  say,  we  cannot  doubt 
that  the  Michaels,  the  Dandolos,  the  Foscari,  the 
great  rulers  who  formed  Venice,  had  steamboats 
existed  in  their  day — serving  their  purpose  better 
than  their  barges  and  peati — would  have  adopted 
them  without  hesitation,  without  a  thought  of  what 
any  critics  might  say.  The  wonderful  new  impulse 
which  has  made  Italy  a  great  power  has  justly  put 
strength  and  life  before  those  old  traditions  of 
beauty  which  made  her  not  only  the  *' woman- 
country"  of  Europe,  but  a  sort  of  odalisque  trading 
upon  her  charms  rather  than  the  nursing  mother  of 
a  noble  and  independent  nation.  That  in  her 
recoil  from  that  somewhat  degrading  position  she 
may  here  and  there  have  proved  too  regardless  of 
the  claims  of  antiquity,  we  need  not  attempt  to 
deny;  the  new  spring  of  life  in  her  is  too  genuine 
and  great  to  keep  her  entirely  free  from  this  evi- 
dent danger.  But  it  is  strange  that  anyone  who 
loves  Italy,  and  sincerely  rejoices  in  her  amazing 
resurrection,  should  fail  to  recognize  how  venial  is 
this  fault. 

And  we  are  glad  to  think  that  the  present  Vene- 
tians have  in  no  respect  failed  from  the  love  enter- 
tained by  their  forefathers  for  their  beautiful  city. 
The  young  poet  of  the  lagoons,  wohse  little  sonnet 
I  have  placed  on  the  title-page  of  this  book,  blesses 
in  his  enthusiasm  not  only  his  Venice  and  her  beau- 
tiful things,  but  in  a  fervor  at  which  we  smile,  yet 
understand,  the  sirocco  which  catches  her  breath, 
and  the  hoarseness  which  comes  of  her  acquaintance 
with  the   seas.     But   he  and   his   tellow-townsmen 

27  Venice 


418  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

have  happily  learned  the  lesson  which  the  great 
Dandolo  could  not  learn  nor  Petrarch  teach,  that 
Venice,  glorious  in  her  strength  and  beauty,  is  but 
a  portion  of  a  more  glorious  ideal  still — of  Italy  for 
the  first  time  consolidated,  a  great  Power  in  Europe 
and  in  the  world. 

THE  END 


CALUMET  SERIES— Continued 


*eter  Simple Capt.  Marryat 

'ilgrim's  Progress John  Bunyan 

Pioneers J.  Fenimore  Cooper 

^lain  Tales  From  the  Hills Rudyard  Kiplfng 

Pleasures  of  Life .........Sir  John  Lubbock 

I'oe's  Tales , ......Edgar  Allan  Poe 

'olite  Life  and  Etiquette ..' [. . 

Prisoners  and  Captives. , Henry  Seton  Merriman 

Pride  and  Prejudice Jane  Austen 

Prima  Donna  of  the  Slums,  The Stanley  McKenna 

Prince  of  the  House  of  David Kev.  J.  H.  Ingraham 

;»oor  and  Proud Oliver  Optic 

*rofesspr  at  the  Breakfast  Table Oliver  Wendoll  Holmes 

'rairie,  The J.  Fenimore  Cooper 

I'rue  and  I George  William  Curtis 

Jueen  of  the  Air John  Euskin 

iab  and  His  Friends ,Dr.  John  Brown 

ilepresentative  Men Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 

levenge  of  Circe AloxiuaLorqugen 

Reveries  of  a  Bachelor (Ik  Marvel)  Donald  G.  Mitchell 

lo hi hson  Crusoe Daniel  De  Foe 

I  ismond Mary  J,  Holmes 

lloyal  Robber,  The .' Herbert  Kau 

Ux  to  Sixteen Mrs.  Juliana  H.  Ewing 

Sketches  from  Life C  Dickens 

5artor  Resartus : Thomas  Carlyle 

Jcarlet  Letter,  The Nathaniel  Hawthorne 

>elf  Raised,  or  From  the  Depths Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

>eneca'8  Morals Sir  Roger  L' Estrange 

Sesame  and  Lilies John  Ruskin 

Shadow  of  a  Sin Berth  a  M.  Clay 

She's  All  the  World  to  Me Hall  Caine 

Ships  that  Pass  in  the  Night Beatrice  Harraden 

Sign  of  the  Four. A.  Conan  Doyle 

Single  Heart  and  Double  Face Charles  Reade 

Singularly  Deluded Sarah  Grand 

Six  Gray  Powders,  The ^.. Mrs.  Henry  Hood 

Sketch  Book,  The Washington  Irving 

inowlra.ige,  The Nathaniel  Hawthorne 

Squire's  Darling Bertha  M.  Clay 

Stickit  Minister,  The • S.  R.  Crockett 

Stories  From  the  French Gr.y  de  Maupassant  and  others 

Story  of  an  African  Farm (Ralph  Iron)  Olive  Schreiner 

Strange  Case  of  Henry  Toplass John  W.  Postgate 

Stronger  Than  Death Emile  Richebourg 

5tudy  in  Scarlet A.  Co  nun  I'oyle 

5 w  iss  Family  Robinson J.  D."  an  d  J.  R.  Wy ss 

[ales  From  Shakespeare Charles  and  Mary  Lamb 

Pales  From  the  Odyssey Walter  C.  Perry 

Canglewood  Tales i Nathaniel  Hawthorne 

rhree  Men  in  a  Boat Jerome  K.  Jerome 

L'helma Marie  Corel li 

["hrough  the  Looking  Glass Lewis  Carrol  1 

Com  Brown  at  Oxford , .' Thomas  Bwghes 

Com  Brown's  School  Days Thomas  Hughes 

treasure  Island Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

rrue  and  Beautiful John  Ruskin 

["ry  Again Oliver  Optic 

rempest  and  Sunshine Mary  Jai.e  Holmes 

Cwice  Told  Tales Nathaniel  Hawthorne 

Jnderthe  Maples Walter  N.  Hinman 

Jncle  Tom's  Cabin Harriet  Beec)i«r  Stowe 

/^ashti  and  Esther Author  of  Belle's  Letters 

7ic&T  of  Wakefield Oliver  Goldsmith 

/^oyagc  of  the  Sunbeam Lady  Brassey 

Virtue's  Reward Mrs.  Lewis 

Vater  Babies Charles  Kingsley 

Veddedand  Parted Bertha  M.  Clay 

Vhat  Will  the  World  Say? .Mary  Jane  Holmes 

Vhat  Would  You  Do,  Love? Mary  Jane  Holmes 

t^'hite  Company,  The A.  Conan  Doyle 

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